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CHORDS 
AND DISCORDS 


A STORY OF SOULS ASTRAY ' 
ENGLISH VERSION OF 

OSSIP SCHUBIN’S 

Woher tout dieser Missklang durcli 
die Welt?” 


IN TWO PARTS— FART ONE 


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CHORDS 
AND DISCORDS 


STORY OF SOULS ASTRAY 


uNGLISH VERSION OF 

- OSSIP SCHUBIN’S 

Voher tontjMeser Miss/clang durch die Welt?” 

** BY 

A. H. L. 

, 


IN TWO PARTS— PART ONE 


(Specially written for “ Once a Week Library ” 

ItrSrfro X 



Entered according to Act of Congress, i 
Peter Fenelon Collier, 

S3 the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington, 





CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“Life is neither a jest, nor is it a game and play. Life 
5 a heavy task ; and man should not live for the realiza- 
tion of his thoughts and speculations, however noble, 
but for the fulfillment of his duty.” — Turgenieff. 


BOOK /. 


CHAPTER I. 

He was seated at his writing-table with a 
pencil in his hand and a note-book before him. 
At his right hand was a book entitled “Italy in 
Sixty Days”; at his left, a “Traveler’s Guide 
Book.” He was scribbling all sorts of im- 
portant memoranda in the note-book, and his 
countenance, all the while, wore a quite serious 
expression, not unmingled with high gratifi- 
cation. 

His godfather had presented him with a lot- 
tery ticket as a birthday present; and this ticket 
had drawn a prize of some hundreds of dollars; 
and, as a result of the extremely promising 
qualities and talents which he had displayed 
at the Military Academy, he had been granted 

( 3 ) 


4 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


a two months’ leave of absence, to enable him 
to extend bis knowledge of languages. 

It was his purpose to apply both these oppor- 
tunities — the dollars and the leave of absence — 
in making a journey to Italy. And he was 
filled with joy at the prospect before him; a 
joy compounded of intellectual enthusiasm and 
pure child-like feeling, as might be expected 
from his mental constitution. For he was a 
sort of duplex being: son of a North-German 
father, and of a mother who was a native of 
the Rhine country. His head was, conse- 
quently, heavily laden with reflections on every 
imaginable kind of philosophical problems; 
while the sheer joy of living and longing for 
pleasure, which pervade the people of the 
Rhenish country, was felt by him in his every 
vein. His temperament and being were, so to 
speak, a compound of North-German cloudland 
and Rhenish sunshine. 

The chamber in which we find him was in 
Dorothea Street. It was not particularly large, 
but the air gave you no sense of closeness. It 
was the dwelling-room of a young fellow hard- 
ened against both extremes, of cold and heat 
alike, and who slept with his window open in 
summer and winter. 

His bed was in an alcove; a simple iron bed 
it was, with very little covering, and with one 
small and obviously quite hard pillow. 

The front part of the room was of not quite 
such Spartan baldness. The furniture was of 
the ordinary tasteless kind invariably found 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


5 


in furnished lodgings; but there were, about 
the apartment, a few signs that its occupant 
required something more in the way of dec- 
oration and ornament to satisfy him. One of 
the walls was hung all over with photographs 
of famous pictures and buildings. There was 
a Michael Angelo’s “Last Judgment,” Titian’s 
“Assunta,” and the “Colosseum,” conspicuous 
and large, challenging the observer’s attention 
at once. This lieutenant of the guard was, evi- 
dently, an enthusiast Jor art, and had studied 
it deeply, so far as his life of military routine 
and limited circumstances permitted. He had 
also given no little of his time to the study of 
Italian history and life. 

His choice of photographs, while giving evi- 
dence of the limitation of his pecuniary means, 
indicated in him a preference for those achieve- 
ments in art which had for a long time been 
stamped with public recognition, as master- 
pieces and models. And this choice suggests 
to us that the young fellow was of modest 
disposition, and inclined to defer to authority. 

Above the writing-table of our lieutenant 
hung the portrait of his deceased father, which 
much resembled Karl Maria von Weber. All 
his family were exceedingly proud of this 
likeness to the eminent composer. 

Unfortunately, this resemblance consisted 
principally in a very large nose, and in the 
two small curls which curved down from his 
temples to coalesce with his whiskers; though, 
perhaps, it was fortified by a very high cravat 


6 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


and the immense roll of the collar of his bottle- 
green coat. It is quite certain that the old 
Baron Schlitzing had never written any opera 
like the Freischiitz, or any other, in fact. In- 
deed, he had never been famous for any sort 
of high achievement whatever. But this did 
not prevent his son from entertaining the firm 
conviction that his capacity for all sorts of 
wonderful performances knew no limit, and 
that it was only his unfortunate circumstances 
that prevented these high talents from bearing 
their appropriate fruit. 

But, if the young man had been required to 
specify just how these circumstances had oper- 
ated to hinder this development in his father, 
he would have found it difficult to do so. For 
Werner’s father had, in fact, inherited consid- 
erable property, and had entered life under most 
favorable auspices and in a position that left 
nothing to be desired. And the simple truth 
is, that the father was an expensive theorist, 
always trying to give effect to plans which 
were excellent in principle and admirable on 
paper; but in his efforts to put these theories 
to practice, he simply blundered away his 
money until he was reduced to poverty. He 
had been an idealist in the old-fashioned sense 
of the word; that is to say, an entirely unprac- 
tical person. As for the rest, he had been irre- 
proachable in character. 

He cannot be said to have inflicted any irrep- 
arable injury on his family by his proceedings. 
He left no debts which were not easily dis- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


7 


charged out of the remnants of his estate; and 
he died soon after sustaining the principal losses 
which so altered his position. 

The portrait of him we have been referring to, 
was in oil, and below it there was a water-color 
portrait of his wife, taken when she was in the 
first bloom of her wedded youth. This lady’s 
face did not put you in mind of any celebrity; 
but that was not at all necessary to enlist the 
sympathy and interest of those who examined 
it. If the picture was really a correct render- 
ing of her face, she must have been not only 
a consummate beauty, but of bewitching charm, 
too; such life and fire and intellect was there in 
the large significant eyes, and such an expres- 
sion of roguishness and spirit in the beautiful 
lips and mouth. 

Above the young man’s bed, a little in shadow, 
and aside from everything else, as though deemed 
specially sacred, there hung another portrait of 
the same lady. Thirty years had passed over 
her head from the date of the earlier picture. 
In this second rendering of her, she was quite 
an old woman; old as no woman is at sixty, 
unless she has had to contend with illness and 
wearing anxieties. This later picture shows an 
aged lady in a black silk dress, the reverse of 
picturesque, and with smooth, gray bands of 
hair, covered by a small black lace cap. 

Her beauty had disappeared; but there was 
still some reflection of the earlier spirit and 
joyousness playing about the eyes and mouth, 
and relieving the furrows and wrinkles traced 


8 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


on the fine face by the hardness of her lot. 
And there was something about the counte- 
nance which seemed as though it were ex- 
claiming pleasantly to Destiny: “Here I am, 
alive still; you’ve not been able to put me 
down, in spite of all your efforts!” 

The young lieutenant would have been puz- 
zled to say which of the two pictures was the 
dearer to him; each of them lent a deeper sig- 
nificance to the other. 

Perhaps, at the bottom of his heart, the dearer 
image to him was that of the deeply tried, broken, 
and yet still courageous old woman. Scarcely 
ever did he gaze at it without having to wipe 
away some moisture from his eyes; while he 
murmured gently: “Dear, sweet little mo- 
ther! ” 

He held his father’s memory in honor, first, 
because he had been his father, and the feeling 
was all the softer because of the father’s com- 
paratively early death. His sentiments toward 
the dead man were all that might be expected of 
a young German, well brought up, and of some- 
what antique temper. But, as for his living 
mother, her he simply worshiped. His feeling 
for his father was quite unqualified by any 
tendency to unfilial criticism, but it had not 
the true warmth of the deepest affection of 
the heart. There was something prescriptive, 
official, about it. But, while his feeling for his 
mother was not of the blind devotion that can 
neither see nor imagine fault, it was full of 
warmth, came from the depths of his heart, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


9 


and was animated by enthusiastic approval of 
nearly all she was and did. 

In considering his father’s character, he had 
never, consciously to himself, put his finger on 
any decided fault or failing. But, as to his 
mother, he allowed himself to perceive her little 
failings quite clearly. His love for her was too 
great and fixed to be at all affected by the little 
unevennesses in her character and ways which he 
could not help observing. And these little de- 
fects, if defects they could indeed be called, 
seemed only, in his eyes, to set off the great 
virtues of the old lady, and to make him feel 
more tenderly toward her than he would had 
she been a quite flawless creature. 

And it may be truly said that his devotion to 
his mother was the best and most sacred of all 
the feelings of his young heart. He was, every 
inch, her son, so far as his personal appearance 
went. There were the same finely chiseled 
features, the same dark hair and the same fresh 
vitality and liveliness about the mouth. Only 
the expression of energy and decision which was 
so marked on the countenance of the woman 
was, unhappily, wanting in that of the man. 

It was wanting in the lips, which, though 
showing spirit, were too soft; it was wanting 
in the eyes, which, in strong contrast to the 
mother’s, had in them a searching, plaintive 
element, an almost obtrusive languor. His 
eyes were also different from the mother’s in 
their color. Hers were brown and full of 
light, his were gray and somewhat veiled. 


10 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


Werner was young and a lieutenant in the 
guards. And he was fully capable of sharing 
the enjoyments and amusements of his age and 
position. But, in the main, he was a dreamer, 
a speculator, one of those who strove to fathom 
the unfathomable. A keen observer might con- 
clude that he was one of those whose object in 
life would finally be attained not in pursuing 
one direct, straightforward, invariable course, 
but only after traversing circuitous by-ways; 
and that he would not find and maintain his 
moral equilibrium without many preliminary 
stumbles and troubles. 

And there he sat between his two printed 
helps to travel, busily, and with a little pedantic 
precision, determining and noting down the vari- 
ous stopping places of his journey. Four hun- 
dred dollars do not make a large sum; but it is 
sufficient to take a young sturdy German, not 
afraid of some little discomforts, as far as Rome 
and back. And Rome he decidedly must see. 
On this point he had long made up his mind, 
and the little privations which he would have 
to put up with to attain this ideal end and aim 
of his journey did not deter him in the least. 
What did it matter if his meals were of inferior 
quality, or if he had to encounter even more seri- 
ous discomforts? All that was a matter of com- 
plete indifference. It would be quite otherwise 
for a lady, of course; but as to himself, a young 
man . . . ! Certainly, as long as he wore his 
emperor’s uniform he owed it certain respects 
which limited his discretion; but, when in civil 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


11 


costume, he was quite ready to submit to any- 
thing second-rate and cheap, as long as it was 
respectable — from riding in a third-class car- 
liage to anything above or below that proceed- 
ing, as it might happen to turn out. As to his 
meals, they were always, at this period, more or 
less a burden and a bore to him; he regarded 
them as only necessary inflictions to be got over 
anyhow, mere occasions for renewing his forces, 
which it would be absurd to think too much 
about. He was as yet almost incredibly free 
from all sorts of material pretensions or needs. 
Fine cookery,' sleeping on a spring mattress 
in a large commodious bed, comfortably dand- 
ling on red velvet cushions in a railroad car- 
riage — all such things were of no interest to 
him whatever. All he thought of or wanted 
was to go, to go forward, go quickly. His 
whole soul was wrapped up in the idea of see- 
ing beautiful scenery, familiarizing himself with 
the art- treasures of Italy, with all that the hu- 
man spirit had produced of the greatest and 
most glorious. 

He was of the most artless, naive recepivet- 
ness; indeed, it is not often that one encounters 
a nature so favorably constituted for the appre- 
ciation and enjoyment of beautiful things. En- 
thusiasm, as yet, could produce quite a fever in 
his blood. How long was that to last? 

Once more, and now for the last time, he read 
through and thought over again the route he had 
projected for his journey. Dresden — a day not 


12 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


to be followed by bed and sleep — Munich, Inns- 
bruck, Verona; the very names sent a thrill of 
delight through him; Bologna, Florence — oh, 
Florence!! Impossible to describe his sensa- 
tions! Siena — the mere name was music. 
Rome ! His mouth became dry. Rome, Rome, 
Rome ! ! He repeated the name thrice to him- 
self. Something told him that Rome was des- 
tined to play an exceptional part in his life. A 
shiver ran through his frame, made up of long- 
ing for what was indefinable to his soul, of a 
presentiment of something which would be full 
of poetry, of danger, of intoxication. And out 
of all this cloud of confused phantasy there 
merged the lines of some feminine figure. He 
caught himself in the very act of giving to this 
figure determinate form and being, and was so 
struck with the absurdity of the attempt that he 
suddenly burst out into laughter. The feminine 
“ element’ ’ had hitherto played quite a subordi- 
nate part in his career. “Shall I fall in love 
when in Rome, or can it be that I am threatened 
with an engagement to marry there?” he asked 
himself. “Oh, it’s too stupid for anything!” 
he added. And then he seized his cigarette- 
case, which was rather valuable and was 
adorned with the Schlitzing arms, and formed 
somewhat of a contrast with the rest of his 
modest surroundings. He lighted a cigarette 
and surrendered himself to dreamy reflections. 
How beautiful life was! What glorious things 
awaited him in his immediate future! It was 
long since anything had given him such un- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


13 


qualified delight as the prospect of this journey 
to Italy. 

He lea Ms chair and stretched his 

limbs to id 

felt som ru n 

able sat 

though he had been allowing ; i. : to indulge 
in some unwarrantable laxity. He laughed, 
was the sensation of being without his uniform. 
He had already donned the gray tourist dress 
which he had had made for Italy. The civilian 
costume was comfortable, that could not be 
denied. But at the same time he could not 
help feeling that, in wearing it, he was with- 
out a kind of support to which he had become 
habituated. 


CHAPTER II. 

There was a ring at the bell. His servant, 
a young man with a rather grotesque counte- 
nance, brought him a letter. 

He examined the address and the post-mark 
— Schlangenbad. His mother was in Schlangen- 
bad at the time, but the letter was not from her. 
His mother’s handwriting was formed with 
slanting letters, and had a character of modesty 
and unpretentiousness about it: it seemed to be, 
as it were, in a hurry to meet the person to 
whom it addressed itself, with the single purpose 
of saying what had to be said. But the address 


14 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


on the letter in his hand was in writing strongly 
contrasted with that of the old Baroness Schlitz- 
ing. It showed bold, quite upright letters, 
which seemed determined to assert an orig- 
all their own. He turned the letter 
It was adorned with a monogram in 
I a coronet with nine projecting points. 

. was redolent of perfume, obtrusively so. 

“Ah! ” The young man divined from whom 
it came. It was one of his aunts, the one who 
had presented him with his pretty cigarette- 
case; the youngest sister of his father,, and the 
only person in the family who had managed 
to get on in the world and feather her nest 
well. 

He broke open the letter hastily, and read : 

“Dear Werner! — It is much to be hoped 
that this letter will find you still in Berlin. 
As I hear, you are planning a journey to Italy. 
My purpose in writing is to induce you to devi- 
ate from that direction, at all events for a while, 
and direct your steps elsewhere. 

“When I arrived here two days ago, I found 
your mother by no means in such good case as 
I could have wished. And I have it very much 
at heart to confer with you as to her further 
medical treatment, and, generally, what ought 
to be done for her. I make it, therefore, my 
special request that you will take Schlangenbad 
on your way to Italy. You need not stay here 
long, however. Perhaps you will not think 
your mother’s condition such as to give room 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


15 


for anxiety. But you know I am myself al- 
ways prone to feel anxiety; and when the mat- 
ter concerns a person so very near my heart 
as my dear Rosa! She has not the least idea 
that I am writing to you, the dear, good soul. 
The idea that you are being deprived of any 
pleasure would so disturb her that it would 
more than counterbalance for ill any slight 
good which the treatment here at Schlangenbad 
is doing her. 

“Perhaps I’m only spinning cobwebs out of 
my own brain. It is for you to decide. 

“For the rest, Schlangenbad is charming: an 
idyll, my love, a pure idyll. One doesn’t see 
many serious invalids; but there are lots of 
badly dressed Englishwomen; which more than 
makes up for that. And there are plenty of 
‘impossible’ creatures. But these don’t trouble 
us. They only form, so to say, a background 
for our little society. We are enjoying our- 
selves famously. Come and see! All sorts of 
affectionate greeting from your old aunt, 

“Malvina.” 

His first feeling as his eyes went rapidly over 
the letter was one of great disturbance. He 
could not help thinking that if he was sum- 
moned suddenly like that to Schlangenbad, 
there must be serious reasons for it. Italy 
went out of his thoughts directly, and he 
seized the railway guide to look out for the 
train that would take him the quickest to 
Frankfurt, and from that point to Schlangen- 


1G 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


bad. The most available train started late 
in the afternoon, arriving next morning at 
Frankfurt. He had still six clear hours be- 
fore him to worry in before he could stir from 
the spot. He took up his aunt’s letter again, 
hurriedly. 

He observed a few words which adorned the 
last page, the only words there, indeed. 

“Don’t forget to bring a white flannel suit. 
Lawn tennis and white flannel are obligatory 
here!” 

This sentence sounded strangely to him. How 
could it come there, he asked himself. It did 
not seem quite in keeping with such a letter as 
this. It was most likely that his aunt had, in 
her hurry, taken a sheet of writing paper on 
which these words had been already written. 

But no; on the preceding page he had noticed, 
under his aunt’s signature, the letters T. O., 
for turning the leaf. And now he read the let- 
ter through a second time, and found that it did 
not produce anything like the strong anxiety it 
had at first. For a moment the thought crossed 
his mind that his aunt was alleging this so- 
licitude about his mother only as a pretext for 
alluring him to Schlangenbad. But the thought 
passed away at once without leaving any im- 
pression. As is the case with all unspoiled, 
radically fine natures, any sort of mistrust was 
repulsive to him. 

He read the letter through a third time, and 
perceived that it was a very mixed-up, confused 
document, indeed. He asked himself whether it 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


17 


would not be best to telegraph to Schlangenbad 
to his sister, who was with his mother. From 
her he would get information about his mother 
which he could rely on. He knew his sister 
well. She was not precisely a lovable creat- 
ure, but she was quite honorable and truthful. 
And she would not willfully keep anything 
from him. And yet — no — it would not do! In 
the first place, by some accident the telegram 
might come to his mother’s hands — and then — 
then, well, he suddenly felt quite ashamed of 
himself for making such a difficulty of post- 
poning his journey a few days, and at its being 
necessary, as it would seem, for him to be 
dragged by main force to his mother’s side. 
“I do believe that I am the most selfish creat- 
ure on God’s earth,” he said to himself, peni- 
tently; and he further reflected: “If my mother 
is really ill the whole blessed business of the 
journey will be no pleasure to me, and, if she’s 
all right, I’ll just stay a few days in Schlangen- 
bad, and then go on.” 

What was first and foremost in his mind was 
the hope that he should find his mother in her 
usual health. And his aunt’s postscript was, 
in this respect, a very encouraging one to him. 

He smiled at the notion of his taking with 
him a white flannel suit; as though he had half- 
a-dozen or so of such articles. How in the world 
should he have white flannel suits? But his 
aunt belonged to the class of “aristocratic ” 
people who cannot possibly conceive of certain 
things as being otherwise than in a certain way 


18 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


— things which, as she would put it, are de 
rigueur. 

He reflected for a few moments more and then 
composed the following telegram to his aunt 
Malve. 

“Any immediate danger?” 

Four hours later, came the answer. 

“Ho immediate danger, but your presence 
urgently desired.” 

He breathed more freely: he had plenty of 
time then to arrange matters thoroughly before 
starting. Anything like excessive haste had 
always been extremely repugnant to him. He 
started on the following evening. 

As he had arrived at the full conviction, after 
receiving his aunt’s telegram, that it would not 
matter whether he reached Schlangenbad a few 
hours sooner or later, he stopped off at Frank- 
furt. He could not resist the temptation cf 
lounging about a little in a city which, from 
his earliest years, had been stamped upon his 
thoughts as something of exceptional beauty 
and interest, and which he had all his life so 
longed to see. 

But now that he was here, he was by no 
means so gratified as he had expected. The 
streets, broad and kept beautifully clean, were 
inviting enough, but there was too much bril- 
liance and modernity about them ; they wanted 
the peculiar aroma of history, those traces and 
landmarks of the past which make the very 
stones eloquent with memories of the dead. 
The tiniest little city on the banks of the Rhine 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


10 


had more romantic sentiment about it than 
this splendid metropolis of His Majesty Mam- 
mon. As he stalked along in the principal 
thoroughfares and looked at the fascinating 
displays in the shop windows, he could not 
help feeling vexed that he had no money to 
spend on purchases; and to take his revenge 
on Frankfurt, he dubbed it a breeding place for 
golden calves. 

Well, golden calves flourish in Berlin, too; 
that could not be denied. But here and there 
among them you will find, in the larger city, 
a well - to - do Chimsera also. Or, to speak 
without parables, ambition, there, does every 
now and then set before itself some aim that 
is not merely hard, practical, and material. 

Then a smile stole over his features; it oc- 
curred to him that every German owed a cer- 
tain debt of pious regard to Frankfurt, that, 
after all, it was not only the home of the 
Rothschilds, but of Goethe and the Brentanos, 
too. 

He laughed at himself for his one-sidedness; 
and, after refreshing himself with a good break- 
fast at the “Englischer Hof ’’—the traditional 
stopping place of his mother’s family — he de- 
cided that he would divide the time that he 
had left between an inspection of the Roths- 
child collection and a visit to the Goethe house. 

The Rothschild museum was open for the 
day; and, oddly enough, when he presented 
himself quite naively at the door of the ele- 
gant modern building, which contains the 


20 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


treasures, without a special permit, he was 
allowed to pass in. 

The inspection did not take him long. His 
artistic understanding had been too little trained 
and developed for him to be able to summon up 
a correct interest in all the splendid things 
which were offered to his gaze. It bored him 
to see so many little snuff-boxes at one time. 
And then all the rest of the wonderful para- 
phernalia! Distributed over some dwelling- 
place of living creatures, and thus fulfilling 
the object for which they were created, they 
would have thoroughly charmed him. But, 
as he saw them now, standing against the 
wall in their glass cases, they seemed to him 
like things in prison, shut away from all sym- 
pathetic and living surroundings, and con- 
demned to vegetate henceforward in a wretched 
way. 

It was with a feeling of joy that, fleeing from 
all this splendor of curious and rare things, he 
found himself in the midst of the antique, 
world-forgetting, world-forgotten interests at- 
taching to the house of Goethe. Here he was 
in his own real element. Although everything 
and everybody that had given its special inter- 
est to all that was here belonged irretrievably 
to the dead past, yet the air that had breathed 
on these passed-away persons and events of the 
earlier time seemed to be the same that he was 
now himself respiring; and he took in long 
draughts of this atmosphere, made up of musty 
smell, ancient wood, and immortal memories, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


21 


with reverential delight. Every one of the stiff- 
legged old chairs seemed to carry with it its own 
special chapter of Goethe’s famous autobiogra- 
phy. He went into a very revel of enthusiasm 
over it all; remained standing in one window 
recess after another for more time than he took 
any count of; took a long look out from each 
of them, and then suddenly closed his eyes, in 
order to give free, unchecked play to his imag- 
ination, and spent such a time over all this 
that — he was too late for his train. 

Then he traversed some of the principal streets 
again, and, succumbing to the fascination of the 
“astonishing low prices” of the goods displayed 
in the windows, went into one of the shops. 
Partly out of kindness, and partly because he 
was so dreadfully bored, he made up his mind 
to buy something to take with him for his 
mother and sister. But, when he came to ex- 
amine a little more narrowly these “astonish- 
ingly cheap” objects, he found that they were not 
at all to his taste, while he was much startled 
at the prices of the things which pleased him 
better. But he did not like to leave the shop 
without accomplishing his purpose, and, to tell 
the truth, could not help being flattered at the 
praise of his good taste conferred on him by the 
exceedingly pretty young lady who served him. 
And, as he felt he must do something to justify 
these encomiums, he finally purchased a couple 
of ladies’ work-baskets, although very much in 
the dark as to the object of the various articles 
they contained. However, he was assured by 
f 


22 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


the young lady in question that what he took 
was not only “quite exceptionally lovely,’ ’ but 
also “admirably practical.” And all this being 
completed, he betook himself to the railroad 
station, where he had to wait some time for his 
train; there was no help for it. 

When he went to the ticket- office to arrange 
as to his further progress, he was startled by the 
void in his purse. The budget of expenses for 
the Italian journey, as he had settled it, was 
quite disarranged. How could he possibly have 
got rid of so much money? This problem he 
brooded over in some disturbance of mind while 
the train was bearing him along through the 
rich green landscape. Well; there had been 
a little expenditure on the railroad tickets, a 
breakfast, a something for cab hire, some fees 
to waiters, and so forth; and, after all, what 
was the use of dwelling on it? The money was 
gone. That was always so with him; he never 
could properly regulate such things, he could 
not economize; but it was some compensation, 
on the other hand, to think that he could, when 
the case demanded it, go without his meals with 
the most perfect equanimity. And it had fre- 
quently been his lot to exercise this talent at 
Berlin. He never incurred any debts. And as 
to taking anything from his relations, or squeez- 
ing from his mother a single cent more than she 
gave him, these were things that he could not 
possibly find it in his heart to do. 

Yes; a fine character he certainly was, but 
unpractical almost beyond conception. His 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


23 


watch always went wrong, and, when he came 
to count his pocket-handkerchiefs, there were 
always some wanting to make up a round 
dozen. 


CHAPTER III. 

Eltville ! The shadows had already begun 
to lengthen when he reached the place. 

There was no evening post from this point to 
Schlangenbad. It seemed too expensive a 
measure to hire a carriage. He resolved that 
he would proceed to Schlangenbad on foot; this 
would help to save something. But he would, 
after all, not be able to hunt up his mother that 
evening; and the old-fashioned little Rhenish 
town took such strong hold of his fancy that 
he could not make up his mind to leave it 
without a little further examination. It re- 
minded him of his childhood, the sunniest and 
most joyous part of which had been spent in the 
country on an estate belonging to a rich relation 
of his mother. It reminded him also of some 
illustrations of German popular tales and songs, 
the mere looking at which sent him back at 
once by a sort of magic to child-age and child- 
land.. 

There was something inexpressibly dreamy 
and poetical in the place. It seemed sunk in 
a sort of sleep, world-forgetting and world- 
forgotten. Indescribable, too, was the poetic 
quietism of the small crooked streets, the houses 


24 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


with their gables and small-paned vvindows and 
projecting upper stories. Here and there was 
a flower-pot with white flowering Hortensias 
in the windows; in another window were red 
geraniums. Such a thing as a human being 
was scarcely to be seen. It seemed like a city 
of the dead, and this solitude much enhanced 
the fairy-like legendary atmosphere that brooded 
over the place. But there was one building 
that towered above the others — one not only 
much higher, but of much greater size every 
way, which bore the stamp of a somewhat grim, 
historical grandeur and significance. It pro- 
duced on the observer the impression of a for- 
saken old palace, now, in the course of the cen- 
turies, devoted to a different and a disagreeable 
purpose — perhaps a nunnery, perhaps a prison, 
or, perad venture, a lunatic asylum. The win- 
dows were furnished with a projecting black 
iron grating. On the two pillars of the gate 
which closed the courtyard of the mansion were 
two beasts, very chipped and damaged, which 
had formerly held the coat-of-arms of the fam- 
ily. These were stretching out their paws to 
each other as of yore, but it was a long time 
since they had held anything in them. 

Werner examined the courtyard, looking 
through the closed gates. It had a lawn 
with a few poplar trees. The August^ sun 
had so scorched the neglected grass that it 
looked quite rusty here and there, and the 
poplars looked so dark and gloomy that they 
might almost have been taken for cypresses. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


25 


A wolf-hound, white with age, lay in front 
of a kennel with a small empty dish beside him. 
When he caught sight of Werner he gave a 
low, hoarse growl and lifted a corner of his lip, 
showing his old yellow teeth. From one of the 
windows there came the sound of prayer uttered 
in a single, unvarying monotone. 

The place seemed to be oppressed by a dull, 
dead joylessness, as though all life and activity 
had long since departed from it. There was 
something almost uncanny about its dry dull- 
ness that repelled and yet fascinated the ob- 
server. Werner would much have liked to find 
out to whom the mansion belonged, and what 
purposes it was now applied to; but he could 
not see any one about in the street to address 
any inquiries to. 

He turned his back upon this mysterious, 
enigmatic edifice, and went wandering on among 
the odorous shadows of the deepening twilight. 

And, again, just as in the Goethe house at 
Frankfurt, he plunged deeply, or soared high — 
as you will — in a very intoxication of poetic 
and romantic enthusiasm. Stanzas of Goethe, 
of Heine, of Justinus Kerner, went whirring 
and buzzing through his head. In his ears re- 
sounded melodies of Schumann; and these he 
heard just as plainly as if some one were 
actually singing the songs at his elbow. “What 
drives me from the haunts of men? Dead joys 
that will not live again.” And then, again: 
“In Augsburg stands a lofty house, near its 
great house of God!” Then the melodies died 


26 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


away, and nothing was left but words, these 
words: “Die love and joy, die love and joy!” 
which he went on repeating mechanically to 
himself, until, all of a sudden, a peculiar sound 
turned his thoughts in another direction — a kind 
of deep, cool rustling, which, though it grew 
louder and louder, yet remained low and masked, 
so to speak, and seemed to be uttering, with its 
soft, tranquilizing, melancholy note, a sort of 
lullaby to the hot summer day going to its 
repose. 

Werner turned sharp to the left, as though in 
obedience to an appealing cry. 

And there — steel-blue, and flooded by the 
golden light of the setting sun — the sacreJ 
stream spread itself out before him. The 
Rhenish blood in his young veins cried aloud, 
at first, with exultation at the glorious sight, 
and then almost stood still with the overpower- 
ing sense of veneration. How wonderful it was, 
how beautiful, this Rhine, this river so dear to 
Germany and Germans. 

Sunk in his reflections, he went along the 
alleys of lime trees, planted four deep by the 
river banks. And there, by his side, flowed 
the stream, broad, glorious, bearing on its 
bosom, in its course, the rich gold of the sun- 
set. The light of that gold went out slowly, 
slowly. 

Some little way above where he stood, the 
silhouette of a village, with its houses and trees, 
stood out in its monotone of brown against the 
topaz yellow and pale green of the horizon above 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


27 


the sunken sun. And above the sunset long 
streaks of cloud, suffused with red light, rose 
almost to the zenith. The sultriness of the day 
lasted long before the coolness of evening set in. 
But from the water a damp, cool mist arose. 

Werner’s attention was suddenly withdrawn 
from this exquisite charm of the landscape sur- 
rounding him, withdrawn suddenly and sharply. 

The pier, a dam of wood which lined the 
stream, projected forward into it at one point 
for a considerable distance, and on this pier 
there was standing a solitary female figure, 
remarkably slender and delicate. Her features 
were not distinguishable in the fading light, 
but he saw quite plainly that she was a very 
young creature. 

She was standing dangerously near to the 
edge of the pier; so much so that the moment 
he caught sight of her he had a presentiment 
of calamity. He went toward her with hurried 
steps. But before he could reach the spot where 
she was she had bent forward — there was a great 
splash — she had disappeared in the water! 

With the speed of lightning he threw off coat 
and waistcoat and sprang in after her. He was 
famous for his swimming and diving, and she 
had not had time to sink very deep. He suc- 
ceeded in gettinghold of her with comparatively 
little difficulty. The most awkward part of it 
was getting her up from the stream on to the 
bank; but this, too, he happily accomplished. 

He got with her safely to the shore and went 
on holding her close and tight as though she 


28 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


were a sick child. Her form was so excessively 
slender and supple that she seemed almost to 
melt away in his arms. Nevertheless, her limbs 
were round and soft, the lines of her bosom in- 
describably sweet, and every subtle movement of 
her frame was clearly to be seen under the sum- 
mer dress, which, wetted thoroughly as it was, 
clung closely to her young body. The small 
face — he could see it plainly enough in the gray 
evening light — had a something on it original 
and peculiar. There was a tenderness in it that 
suggested a foreign origin; but even in these un- 
favorable circumstances, drenched with water and 
with the eyes closed, it was a face of inexpres- 
sible charm and beauty. It was deadly pale; 
but that, of course, was attributable to the ter- 
rible thing that had j ust occurred. The eyebrows 
and eyelashes were dark, the nose small and 
straight ; the lips were so formed as to suggest 
that the girl was capricious and somewhat mu- 
tinous. They were full, the underlip especially. 
The cheekbones were a little too prominent. Her 
hair curled naturally, and the locks still retained 
their spiral shape in spite of the water. Werner 
was quite at a loss to know what to do with her; 
whether to lay her down, rub her hands and feet, 
breathe air into her, or what? 

Indescribable compassion for her took hold of 
him. Hardly realizing what he was doing, he 
held her close and tight with a caressing clasp, 
as one does a child whom one wants to comfort 
and console. 

All of a sudden she gave a deep shudder as 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


29 


she lay in his arms, aad at the same moment he 
felt her frame grow warmer through her cold, 
damp clothes. She raised herself quite upright 
and pushed him away from her, put her two 
small fists to her eyes as though to rub them 
dry, and then opened them wide and looked up 
at him. 

“What right had you to interfere with me?” 
she cried. Her voice was deep, almost like a 
boy’s voice, but with something in it warm and 
vibrating which the voice of a boy never has. 

“The right that any one has to prevent a 
mad person from doing himself a mischief,” he 
replied. 

“ I am not mad,” she rejoined, with a gloomy 
look; “my head never was so clear as — ” 

She did not finish the sentence, but turned 
with an impatient movement toward the river. 
He clutched involuntarily at her wet garments, 
as if to hold her back. 

She shook him off. “That is not necessary,” 
she said; “one has not courage for that sort of 
thing twice over — at all events, not without 
waiting a while.” Then, suddenly stamping 
with her foot, she exclaimed: “But why did 
you prevent my doing what I wanted. If you 
had not interfered all would have been over by 
now I should have got through with it.” 

“Oh, merciful Father!” He fixed her with 
that sincere deep gaze of his which had now a 
startled expression. And over his speculative 
soul there came for a single instant a sort of 
doubt whether he really had any right to inter- 


30 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. * 


fere thus decisively with her fate. “My God!” 
he repeated; “surely there can be no reason for 
the dreadful thing you’ve been doing, beyond 
some passing fit of melancholy. Young and 
beautiful . . . and — and — ” he examined her 
from head to foot — “obviously of good family,” 
he stammered. “Life is all before you.” Sud- 
denly he stopped short. “Unless — ” he mur- 
mured, almost inaudibly. 

“Unless — ” she repeated. She gave him a 
sharp glance, then blushed deeply, and added 
in a lower tone: “Unless I — I have made life 
impossible to myself. Oh, I understand you 
perfectly.” 

“Oh, forgive me, I — I — ” He reddened sud- 
denly, even more deeply than she had done, 
and was so confused that he scarcely knew 
what to do. 

His perplexity seemed to turn the current 
of her thoughts in a direction somewhat more 
favorable to him. But he could not help ob- 
serving — and it pained him — that his random 
supposition had not wounded her as such an 
idea might be expected to wound a young girl 
standing in the usual relations and circum- 
stances of girlhood. It had evidently not 
seemed to her, as it should have done, some- 
thing unthinkable, monstrous. That she was 
not a married woman he had felt quite sure 
from the first moment. And all this perplexed 
him. 

“I have nothing to forgive,” she replied. 
“I don’t wonder at your conjecture; it appears 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


31 


that there is only one possible reason which can 
induce girls of good family to lay violent hands 
on themselves. But that’s not the case with 
me. There’s no love-story in my life, innocent 
or other.” 

His compassion for her became more active 
and warmer with every moment, but he could 
not find a single word to express it with. Every- 
thing that did take verbal shape within him he 
put aside at once as being either obtrusive or 
perhaps showing mere curiosity. And his com- 
passion suddenly took the shape of anxiety for 
the girl’s health under all this. He looked 
round for his coat, which he had flung off 
when rescuing her, and tried to wrap it round 
her shoulders. 

“Now do, please, make haste and get home 
and dry and warm yourself,” he said. 

“Oh, I shall not catch cold,” she replied, 
putting the coat away from her, “and if — well, 
I do think you needn’t grudge me a natural 
death.” 

“But I do. I grudge you any and every and 
all sorts of death!” he cried, excitedly. 

She shrugged her shoulders and laughed. 
Yes: she was made so. Barely five minutes 
had passed since she had tried to take her own 
life, and she laughed— not very merrily cer- 
tainly, but still — laughed. 

“You’d better put the coat on yourself,” said 
she, “otherwise I cannot allow you to escort me 
to my home, and I’m sure you want to do 


32 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


so — to make yourself quite sure that I don’t 
repeat this late performance.” 

He had quite forgotten the strangeness of his 
costume, and now he gave his person quite a 
startled glance. He put on his coat in a con- 
fused, hurried way. 

She went on, and he followed her. He had a 
presentiment as to where she would direct her 
steps. 

She went up from the little harbor, turned to 
the left. Yes, exactly as he had expected. She 
stopped short at the old mansion and stood fac- 
ing him in a niche where there was a small, 
scarcely observable, door let into the wall by 
the side of the great gates, which were shut — 
always kept shut, he could not but believe. 

Her pure slender figure produced a singular 
impression, seen as it was in the deep shadow 
of this recess. 

“Good-night,” said she, turning to go within. 

He hesitated. Then, placing his large warm 
hand on hers, which had already fastened itself 
on the handle of the door, he stammered out : 

“Ah, if one only knew — if only one could be 
of some service to you!” 

“There is nothing to know, and there is no 
way in which any soul can be of service to me,” 
replied she, with a shrug of the shoulders. 

“Is there nothing I can do for you, nothing?” 
he asked warmly. 

She shook her head and was about to turn the 
handle of the door. 

He said to himself that, only one second more 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


33 


and she would vanish utterly from his life. He 
held her back. “Yes, there is something else, 
there is one thing more,” he said, imploringly. 
Promise me that you will never again, never 
try to — to — make away with yourself.” 

“I cannot promise that,” she said, decisively. 

“I implore you, do, do try to live!” 

She was silent for a moment and then said. 
“Be it so: I will try. We will compromise the 
matter. I’ll try for at least a year.” 

“A year! I won’t agree to any such thing!” 
he cried. “Five years!” By this time the con- 
versation had so moved him, and he was so de- 
voured by anxiety for her that he had taken 
hold of both her hands, and was locking full 
at her with those kind sincere eyes of his. 

He felt that her hands quivered slightly, very 
slightly, in his. If kind Heaven would only 
grant that the girl might see that life, under 
some circumstances, might still so shape itself 
for her as to satisfy all her cravings for happi- 
ness ! He felt that some change had come over 
her; but that he had contributed to this — or 
could, otherwise than by his earnest exhorta- 
tions or entreaties — it did not occur to him for 
a moment to think. It did not enter into his 
thoughts that there might be something con- 
tagious in his own state of exaltation. Indeed, 
he did not at all realize how warm and excited 
he himself was. 

“Well, have it as you will; I’ll premise,” 
she said in low tones. “Five years, five long 
years! ” 


34 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“Your word of honor?” 

“Yes, on my word of honor. They say that 
that doesn’t mean much in a woman’s mouth; 
but you can rely on what I say, indeed you can. 
There may be a good deal amiss in me as a girl, 
but if you view me as a human being, I assure 
you I’m the soul of honor.” 

And now everything had been said that they 
could have to say to one another; but he still 
did not go. 

“My name is Werner Schlitzing, and I am a 
lieutenant in the guards. If ever you have any 
need of me, I’ll come from the very ends of the 
world,” he murmured, and drew her hand to his 
lips. 

“Good-night,” she said; and then something 
strange, indeed, occurred. She was standing on 
a step, and her head was, therefore, somewhat 
higher than his. With a sudden, quick move- 
ment she placed her hands on his shoulders, 
drew him toward her, and kissed him on the 
forehead. 

Before he could quite realize the extraordi- 
nary thing she had done, she had thrust him 
with some little violence from her, the little 
door had opened and been closed again. And 
he stood there quite alone, before the gloomy, 
sinister courtyard which had swallowed her up. 

Everything about him seemed to turn round. 
He asked himself whether the whole thing was 
not a dream. His wet clothes assured him of 
the contrary. No, it was no dream! It was 
reality! It was the one hour in his young life 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


35 


which, in its sweetness and rich significance, 
surpassed all that the hours previous had ever 
afforded him. Yes, it was that, all that; and 
it was past, and could never come again! 


CHAPTER IY. 

The prosaic side of life immediately asserted 
its claims and would take no ideal. However, 
he was in no danger of taking cold ; the summer 
heat was too great for that. But the weight ot 
his wet clothes was very uncomfortable, and he 
wanted to rid himself of them before they dried 
on his person. He repaired to the station, where 
he had left his baggage, and asked them to tell 
him of some good inn. They named one; but 
whether it was the “Red Lion,” or “The 
Eaunus,” or “ The Grapevine,” he could not 
for the life of him have told a little^ater. How- 
ever, he went to the place, was shown to a 
room, and changed his clothes. By this time 
he was quite hungry, and he demanded a ham 
sandwich and a glass of beer. x 

Then, in a casual sort of way, he asked the 
waiter who brought him this frugal refection if 
he happened to know to whom the mansion be- 
longed which had armorial bearings in front of 
a courtyard. 

The waiter reflected for a moment; he did not 
quite know what the young gentleman meant. 

“It is the house that stands in a street that 


36 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


descends sharply from the side of the hill in the 
direction of the river. It has big iron gratings 
before the windows, and looks as if it might 
be a monastery or even a lunatic asylum,” 
explained Werner. 

Xow the waiter understood. 

“Ah, h’m!” he said, “I know what the baron 
means.” 

It was Werner’s fate to be addressed in- 
variably as “Baron” by all waiters and com- 
mercial people, even when he had ordered 
nothing better than a ham sandwich. Pro- 
tests were unavailing, he knew that from expe- 
rience; and, as it seemed to please the waiters, 
he let them have their own way. He was not 
the sort of person to whom any one would im- 
pute complicity in such a thing. 

“Yes, yes, I know what the barcn means; 
the mansion belongs to the Countess Haiden- 
heim, a very pious lady, indeed. She has been 
living there just a year, and has very few 
servants — she is very poor.” 

“And the young girl who is staying with her 
there is her grandchild?” asked Werner, who 
did his best to put the question in as uncon- 
cerned a way as he could. 

The waiter made no reply for a moment, and 
then said: “People conjecture so.” 

“But that’s a thing which people must know, 
if it is so,” cried Werner, with some vexation. 

“There are some cases,” said the waiter, 
with some stress on his words, spreading out 
his fingers as far as they would go and laying 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


37 


that hand on his heart — “there are some cases 
in which a guess at the rights of the situa- 
tion, ...” He pronounced it “sitiwation.” 

“Well, what do you happen to have guessed 
or made out?” asked Werner, somewhat roughly. 

The fact is, that he felt he was giving way 
to curiosity in a manner not quite consistent 
with good taste; and he visited this on the 
waiter. 

“ Well, we believe ... of course we can’t 
get ’anything clear out of the old waiting-wo- 
man who is with the Countess. Whenever 
one says anything to her about our ideas she 
just shakes her head, and all we can get out 
of her is, ‘I say nothing;’ but we believe that 
things were not quite right with the Countess’s 
daughter, and that the young lady is the re- 
sult — ” 

At this point, some other guest of the hotel 
required the waiter’s services, and he left 
Werner, saying, “I’ll come again, directly.” 

When Werner called him back, in a little 
while, to pay for what he had had, the waiter 
asked : 

“H’m ! Has the baron seen the young lady?” 

“Yes,” replied Werner, “just for a moment. 
I passed her in the street. ” 

“Charming, baron, quite charming, isn’t 
she?” said the waiter, enthusiastically, blink- 
ing with a sort of insipid impertinence. 

The blinking, as well as the enthusiasm, 
seemed unwarrantable to Werner. He was 
put out by the man’s manner, was angry on 


38 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


the sweet, unknown girl’s account. He vouch- 
safed no further reply to the man’s remarks, 
gave him a fee, and rose to go. 

The waiter grinned “Many thanks, sir,” 
but evidently could not make up his mind to 
leave t,he subject. “What a pity it is, baron, 
what a dreadful pity! Such a charming young 
lady! And so kind she is, too; a little hot- 
tempered, certainly; doesn’t get on with the 
Countess at all, but the poor and the sick just 
worship her. And so beautiful, too. Looks 
like a princess, and has no name; is called 
nothing but Mademoiselle Lena. How can 
she ever marry! Whatever she is herself, it’s 
a stain, a stain. . .” 

Werner could stand no more of it. It was as 
much as he could do to restrain himself from 
throwing something at the man’s head. He 
drew himself up to his full height, plunged 
his hands in the pockets of his jacket, and, 
without vouchsafing the too eloquent waiter 
another glance, stalked out of the wine-room. 

At the door of the inn was the landlord, to 
whom he handed payment for the use of the 
room in which he had changed his clothes, and 
gave directions that bis baggage should be sent 
on as early as possible the next day to the 
“Court of Nassau,” at Schlangenbad. 

The landlord expressed his modest astonish- 
ment that the “Baron” had not thought it de- 
sirable to remain at Eltville till the next day. 
But Werner cut him quite short and stepped out 
valiantly into the night air, which, at that sea- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


39 


son and place, was laden with sweet scents. 
The landlord looked after him and tapped his 
forehead. There could be no mistake about it, 
none whatever: “Something is wrong with that 
gentleman — quite wrong!” 

Well, the fact is, that there was something 
wrong with Werner, though not in the extreme 
sense of the landlord. All his veins were throb- 
bing with agitation and excitement such as he 
had never before experienced. He was in a con- 
dition which would have made it unendurable 
to be shut up in one of the small rooms of that 
inn, perhaps within any four walls. 

The road out of the little town lay quite un- 
mistakably before him. A fine high-road it 
was, and he went tramping along it in the 
direction of Schlangenbad. Whether the way 
to that place was long or short was nothing to 
him. He was in the infantry, unfortunately 
yes! But, after ail, that had made him a first- 
rate pedestrian. Still, he would so much have 
preferred to serve in the cavalry; but that had 
been quite out of the question in their circum- 
stances. The mother had had quite as much as 
she could manage to put him in the guards in- 
stead of the line. However, he had good hopes 
of the best of advancement. There was quite a 
prospect of his being promoted to the General 
Staff. 

Altogether, he was quite satisfied with his 
lot. His conscience was pure, his health 
sound, his talents were considerable, his occu- 
pation interested him — the military vocation 


40 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


was one that suited him and made him happy. 
There was more than one Prince of the blood 
with whom he would have declined to make an 
exchange. 

How then did it come about that he was sn 
suddenly oppressed by a feeling of discomfort? 
why did his pulses beat so feverishly? why did 
he feel so painfully depressed? Could it be 
anxiety about his sick mother? Hardly. He 
had to confess to himself — and could not help 
blushing as he did so — that he had not given 
his mother a thought in these last hours. Cer- 
tainly, her condition was not such as to oc- 
casion any immediate anxiety. Still, he was 
almost minded to reproach himself for the loung- 
ing carelessness which had caused this post- 
ponement of his meeting with her. Under the 
circumstances, however, he could not do so. 
But for those careless ways of his as to his 
comings and goings he would not have had it 
in his power to save a human life. 

Then, all of a sudden, the questioning thought 
flashed across his mind; had he really done a 
good deed — or was it for eventual good at all — 
in thus forcing that young creature back to life? 
What sort of existence could there be in store 
for one so situated as he feared she was? 

This view of the matter, however, he put aside 
at once as an unconscientious abuse of his con- 
science. It was a clear, plain, fixed principle 
and duty that human beings should mutually 
force one another to put up with life ; the world 
could not go on if that principle were to be im- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


41 


paired. If the impulse or desire to live became 
too weak in any given person, then it was the 
duty of fellow creatures to fortify and supple- 
ment that weakness out of their own strength. 

But, for all this, when he tried to picture to 
himself the future of the young girl nothing sat- 
isfactory presented itself to him. He could not 
resist a vague feeling that the girl’s spiritual 
constitution was disturbed by some radical want 
of harmony among its various elements. To 
his fancy, the girl seemed to have upon her some 
stamp or sign or mark indicating that she was 
reserved for an exceptional and, perhaps, too 
troubled existence. Indeed, what else could be 
expected in view of the present unhappy con- 
ditions of her life, which had been sufficiently 
disclosed to him to warrant his passing judgment 
on her case? He could not help dwelling on that 
kiss which she had pressed upon his forehead 
when they parted. This sweet precipitation of 
hers, this proof of her deep gratitude ; this caress 
so simple, so spontaneous, so warm, and yet so 
exquisitely chaste, had, at the moment, so trans- 
ported him, that he had been almost fain to sink 
at the feet of the dear, silly, enchanting thing 
and place himself at her service — devote himself 
absolutely to her, for life and death. 

But now, when he came to think it over, there 
was something in the occurrence which disturbed 
him. Of course, what she did had been quite 
sweet and lovable. But what well brought up 
girl would ever have thought of such a thing? 
There was no getting over it. That kiss did 


42 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


betray something of that undue and dangerous 
exaltation — something of that intoxication of the 
heart, dominating reflection and moral principle 
alike, to which the poor girl owed her own ex- 
istence altogether. 

He asked himself, with some vexation, why 
he had not thought of all this before? And, 
then, he reproached himself bitterly. What a 
pitiful, small Philistine he was, after all, to ap- 
ply these petty little rules of minor morals and 
etiquettes to this creature, so deserving of com- 
passionate regard ! What was he made of, that 
such thoughts came up in his mind only after he 
had had some intimation of the stain — if such 
there was — attaching to her origin? 

Did he seriously mean to make her personally 
responsible for that misfortune? Why, there 
was no logic in it at all. And, worse than that, 
such an idea was unbecoming a gentleman. And 
there was no doubt of one thing, anyhow; she 
was a most charming creature. Then the thought 
flashed across him, “Oh, that girl! How she 
could love!” And a slight shiver ran through 
him from head to foot. 

Then the words of the waiter recurred to him, 
“Who in the world will marry her?” 

Marry, indeed ! He began to laugh heartily 
at himself for letting his thoughts wander afield 
in that fashion. Marry ! Who thought of any- 
thing like that? Absurdity! He laughed; but 
he did not recover his cheerfulness. 

His little adventure had unhinged him ; that 
was clear; he felt it. He felt a diflficulty in re- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


43 


covering his mental equilibrium. And yet — and 
yet, it had been very sweet, very lovely ! What 
a pity that it was only one short, closed chapter; 
no continuation possible ! 

And so he went thinking and walking on. By 
his side went old Rhine, in all his majesty; 
broad and cool. A transparent mist, which 
seemed made up of vapor and moonshine, hov- 
ered over the stream and spread itself slowly and 
widely over the landscape, over the road, and 
penetrated into the dark forest. All earth 
seemed to have vanished, and the scene to be 
one of moving clouds alone. 

After a while the road diverged from the river 
bank. And the voice of the great stream sank 
lower and lower, until it ceased to reach his 
ear at all. All that he now heard was the sound 
of his own footsteps and the rustlings in the for- 
est. His walk was quite varied. Now he found 
himself in a little valley, with heights at his 
right and left, that shut in all views beyond. 
Presently one of these heights by the road grad- 
ually sank and sank with a quiet descent, man- 
tled by an ample growth of underwood. And 
here the view was opened, taking in the rich, 
fruitful level country, with here and there a 
white cottage rising conspicuously out of it. In 
the far distance the noble river was visible 
again, a stream of silver touched with shimmer- 
ing blue. And the quivering veil of mist was 
spread over it all, as though it were the ruling 
spirit of the scene. 

There was sufficient light for him to be able 


44 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


to read the writing on the finger-posts. He 
traversed several villages, the houses and cot- 
tages in which were all asleep, with a strange 
gleam upon their small window-panes. He was 
not sensible of the slightest bodily fatigue, but 
became sleepy; in fact, it was the uniformity 
and monotony of his gait, as he went along, that 
seemed to have a soporific effect on him. The 
road was longer than he had supposed it would 
be. He asked himself what in the world he 
would do if he reached Schlangenbad on foot, 
and at about two in the morning. It occurred 
to him that he would upset and exasperate all 
the landlords of all the hotels in the place. Then 
the romantic notion occurred to him that it 
would be a fine thing to spend the whole night 
in the forest. 

Soldier as he was, there was nothing in the idea 
of sleeping in the open air to deter him. He went 
deeper and deeper into the forest, and, selecting 
a spot where the moss was thickest, and the for- 
est air seemed most laden with perfume, he lay 
down, resting his head against the roots of a 
tree. Then, in that last stage of wakefulness, the 
mysterious eyes of the girl whom he had forced 
back to life held his soul with their strange 
gleam, and, in his imagination, he all but folded 
again in his arms the wet form, and felt it gath- 
ering warmth again in his embrace. 

Then there came upon his half sleeping brain 
the memory of an old legend which tells of a 
water- witch, with cold blood in her veins, and 
how she was warmed into the fullness of woman- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


45 


ly human life by the embraces of a mortal man. 
And, all the while, there was in his ears that 
fragment of song, mingled with the rustling of 
the forest leaves: “Die, love and joy! Die!” 
And then — he was fast asleep. 


CHAPTER Y. 

“Madame the Baroness is breakfasting, 
at this moment, with mademoiselle — with her 
daughter — in the open air, at the small open 
space as you turn to the right from the Nassau 
alley.” 

Such was the information imparted by the 
waiter to Werner, when, on his arrival at 
Schlangenbad — at about eight o’clock in the 
morning — he inquired after his mother. 

The night in the open air had done him a 
great deal of good. His eyes were clear and his 
lips were fresh, and his long form as erect and 
rigid as a young fir-tree. He had taken the 
precaution of having himself well brushed down 
in the last village he had passed through; but, 
for all that, there was more than one shred of 
moss adhering to his clothes. And there was 
something about his whole person that suggested 
the odors of the forest. 

“There, to the right of the Nassau alley, going 
by the covered walk,” the waiter repeated his 
explanation, adding, “Madame always break- 
fasts in the open air.” 


46 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“Is that so? Hum! well, God be praised, the 
mother can’t have very much the matter with 
her !” thought W erner, hastening with long steps 
along the walk pointed out by the waiter, which 
was thickly covered with luxurious rose-bushes . 0 
After that came a bridge; and when he had 
crossed th&t, he caught sight of his mother at 
once. She had on a very old-fashioned, brown 
round straw hat, fastened under her chin with 
broad ribbons ; and the hat threw a shadow over 
her beautifully chiseled old face, which had an 
extraordinary expression of amiability and pene- 
trating sagacity. Her dress was a black silk, 
every little fold of which was well known to 
W erner ; and she had some sort of wrapper over 
her shoulders, and covering a great part of her 
person. She was one of those who entertain a 
very strong opinion that no woman, after reach- 
ing sixty years, should let her waist be seen 
when it could possibly be avoided. 

By her side sat her stepdaughter, who was 
considerably older than Werner. The young 
woman — she could still be called so, but not for 
long — looked extremely stiff, extremely pale, and 
extremely unamiable. In features and form she 
took after her father. 

Although the mother’s face was not turned 
in Werner’s direction as he advanced, she felt 
rather than saw who it was quicker than his sis- 
ter, whose eyes were, so to speak, looking full 
into his coming face. The old lady turned slowly 
round, and her dark, deeply intelligent eyes, 
which seemed to be all alive with life and spirit, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


4 ? 


began to shine with strange gleams. She looked 
as though a beam of sunshine had suddenly come 
to light up her countenance. “Is it possible! 
Werner, my boy — my precious boy!” She 
jumped up at once. He was as much moved as 
might have been expected from what we have 
seen of him. He stooped to her, took her in his 
arms, and kissed her on the forehead. She had 
fallen away somewhat from her earlier stature, 
under the pressure of the years, and he had shot 
up to an unconscionable height. She stroked 
him with soft, warm hands — aged and wrinkled 
hands they were, but as soft and warm as ever 
— and repeated again and again, “My precious 
boy! my noble boy!” And then her old face 
began suddenly to quiver, in the midst of her 
excitement and delight, with a little convulsion 
which looked as if laughter and pain were con- 
tending for the mastery. 

“What’s the matter, mammy?” he asked, 
stooping down to her in some anxiety. 

“Oh, it’s nothing — nothing at all! It’s only 
that I got up too quickly, and came down too 
heavily on my feet. There’s that broken leg, 
you know, which has only just got right; and 
when I tread too heavily on that foot, it is 
afraid I shall forget all about it, I suppose, and 
makes a point of reminding me of its existence. 
You know, I’m more or less lame; else, what 
should bring me to Schlangenbad. But I forgot 
all about it in the delight of seeing you.” She 
drew him down to the bench by her side. “He 
looks well, doesn’t he, Thilda — what do you 


48 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


say?” turning to her stepdaughter, who now 
did her part — not very enthusiastically, it must 
be confessed — in welcoming her brother. “He’s 
handsomer than ever, isn’t he?” 

“Oh! Isay, mammy — mammy!” remonstrated 
Werner. He couldn’t helplaughing. 

“The people are all turning round to look at 
you both,” observed Thilda, in tones indicating 
very little satisfaction. 

“Let them look, and turn and look as much 
as they like ! I don’t wonder they turn to look 
at my boy ; it only proves what good taste they 
have!” the old lady cried, in some vexation. 
“What next, I wonder? Now , I’m not even to 
give way to my happiness at having my boy 
with me, Thilda! What do you take for break- 
fast, Werner — tea or coffee? The coffee is very 
good here. We’ll tell them to bring coffee for 
one. Thilda and I always divide coffee for one 
between us. They’re quite amiable about this, 
here in Schlangenbad, and one needn’t put any 
restraint upon one’s self for the waiters. The 
people don’t expect us to order two portions, when 
one is enough for two. And that’s a good thing 
for my purse ; it’s more of an invalid than I am. ’ ’ 

“Mamma! mamma!” said Thilda, speaking in 
as low a tone as her agitation would allow. 
“ Must you scream all that out so loud, for all 
the world to hear? Why should we tell every- 
body that we are not well off? People can see 
it for themselves plainly enough, without our 
helping them !” 

Werner laughed. His mother shrugged her 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


49 


shoulders with a vexed expression; and the 
waiter appeared, fortunately, at that moment to 
put an end to the little scene which really looked 
as though it might develop into a quarrel. 

“But how in the world is it that you are here? 
Tell me, my boy — tell me!” urged the mother, 
as soon as she had ordered her son’s breakfast. 
“Why, I thought you were half way to Italy by 
this time. Your last letters were full of nothing 
but traveling projects.” 

“I could not make up my mind to go on with- 
out coming to see after you,” Werner explained, 
in some perplexity. 

“Is that so? Is that really the only reason 
why you are here?” said the old woman. She 
put her head on one side and blinked up at him 
in a curious, observant way. “Is that why you 
have cut off a portion of your short leave of 
absence, and spent some of your money, little 
as it was in all conscience?” 

“ The money again ! the money again!” mur- 
mured Thilda, who was on pins and needles. 

The old lady did not, or would not, hear. 

“ Well, as to the money, that I can replace, 
Werner, my boy; but the time — the time! It is 
more than I can understand!” 

“There is nothing to understand about it,” 
said Werner, as re-assuringly as he could. “It’s 
all plain enough; it’s a delight to me to have 
you, and it’s a delight to you to have me” — he 
drew her hand to his lips— “and that is surely 
enough to account for my coming.” 

“Oh, don’t tell me!” cried the old Madame 


50 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


von Schlitzing, giving him a little slap. “You 
would have got along quite well without this 
sight of me. And a really good mother ought to 
know how to dispense with her children’s pres- 
ence when their happiness requires it. If I had 
received some letters from Italy full of your 
pleasure at being there, it would have been 
enough for me, child. But., if the truth be 
known, you’ve been worrying yourself about my 
health. Malvina is bothering me about it all the 
time.” 

“Who is it that- is talking about Malvina?” 
was heard at this juncture; it was a woman’s 
voice, and ouethat suggested that its owner took 
pains to keep it in a state of nicety and refine- 
ment. “Why, Werner! You here! What a 
surprise! ” 

He looked up, and saw his Aunt Warsberg 
holding out her right hand to him, for which 
purpose she did not take off the pale gray kid 
glove in which it was clad. 

She was a lady of somewhat large proportions, 
and, considering her age, of a remarkably fine 
figure; stout rather than lean. Her face had at 
one time been decidedly handsome, but its feat- 
ures were now somewhat dislocated from their 
pristine symmetry. The probability was that 
they had been tired out by the grimacing ex- 
pression of excessive amiability which she had 
always obliged them to wear. Her eyelids were 
not quite under control ; one of them, in fact, was 
apt to fall over the eye of its own accord, if she 
did not mind very much what she was about. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


51 


The mouth was a little awry. She had at one 
time been famous for her complexion ; now that 
complexion was — rouge. 

She was dressed with the accurately careful 
simplicity proper to a morning toilet. There 
was a dark cloth cloak over all, a sort of loose 
mantle ; and, immediately under it, the swelling 
folds of a fine cambric blouse. She had on a 
small black straw hat, the left side of which was 
adorned by a bird’s wing of gray color. Her 
toilet was completed by a very long parasol, on 
which she supported herself as she came along, 
just as though it were a big walking-stick. 
There was much dignity in her bearing, and her 
glance, as she addressed her fellow creatures, 
had far too mfich politeness in it to be satisfied 
with one interlocutor, and, accordingly, took in 
habitually all the people who were present with 
a semi-circular movement of her still handsome 
head. All her gestures were carefully measured 
for gracious effect, and when she spoke her artic- 
ulation was deliberately round and modulated. 
Altogether, the effect was that of the part of 
the “dignified gentlewoman” of a court theater. 
She was absolutely without that which is the 
specific stamp ol the true great lady— perfect 
naturalness, a total absence of artificiality. It 
was quite unmistakable; the very first glance 
told you that between this lady and her sister- 
in-law there could not be any closely sympathetic 
relations. But Aunt Malvina was the most in- 
fluential member of the family. So she had to 
be treated with some consideration. 


52 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


Werner kissed her hand, and she seated her- 
self in an amiably condescending manner on the 
chair which he offered her. 

“How is it with you to-day, dearest Rose?’ 5 
This to her sister-in-law. 

“You know that I can’t bear having that 
question put to me,” said Madame Schlitzing, 
who was obviously much put out by this addi- 
tion to the group. She would much have pre- 
ferred having her boy all to herself a little while 
longer. Then she repented of her little bit of 
unamiability at once, and tried to make up for 
it. “Won’t you breakfast with us, Malvina?” 

“Thanks — no! I always breakfast in my 
room,” replied Countess Warsberg. “But your 
coffee seems good — very good indeed. The but- 
ter is not much to boast of, but one must not be 
too critical. A la guerre comme a la guere — one 
mustn’t be too particular when campaigning. 
By what train did you get here, then, Werner?” 

“ Yes ; I was just thinking of putting the same 
question myself,” interposed his mother. 

“I? By the evening train, as far as Eltville; 
and from that place I came on foot.” 

“Why, where did you sleep?” asked the 
countess. 

“In the forest,” he replied, merrily. 

“Ah! how romantic!” cried the countess. 

His mother was horrified . 4 4 But it might give 

you an attack of rheumatism, you foolish boy, 
you!” 

4 4 In such hot weather as this?” laughed Wer- 
ner; “no danger, mother. The only thing to be 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


53 


apprehended was that a lizard or a spider might 
perhaps creep over my face ; but if anything of 
the sort did happen, I don’t know anything 
about it. It was glorious ! so fresh, and with a 
perfume! I declare it made me feel that one 
would never shut one’s self up in a bedroom 
again. But, for all that, I do want to change 
my clothes a bit now, and I ought to see whether 
I can have a room in this hotel. My baggage 
must have got here by this time.” 

“If no room is vacant, tell them to take you 
to mine, if you want to have a wash,” cried the 
old lady after Werner, as he was hurrying away. 

“Mention my name if there’s any difficulty 
with the landlord,” said Countess Warsberg, 
with importance. Then, looking after him as 
he went off, she murmured : “A handsome f el- 
low, Werner, really; pity that he doesn’t patron- 
ize a better tailor.” 

Countess Malvina, the youngest sister of Kurt 
von Schlitzing, started in her career as a very 
poor young lady, and as companion to some gen- 
tlewoman. In her thirtieth year she married 
a rich elderly man, who had promoted her to 
widowhood not long before this, leaving her 
brilliantly provided for in his will. 

In her own set she was usually called the 
model-countess. In fact, everything about her 
was calculated to convey the idea of a pattern 
or model. It pervaded her style of dress, her 
housekeeping, her deportment, her reputation — 
even her views and opinions about life in gen- 
eral. These she kept carefully in a praiseworthy 


54 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


middle region, between narrow religiosity and 
dangerously free speculation. As to her political 
opinions, they were apt to change with every 
change of ministry ; and her views of literature 
were as carefully regulated for respectability and 
effect as the rest of her make-up. She read 
quite enough of books which set forth advanced 
and emancipated opinions to enable her to dis- 
cuss them with men, and to shudder over them 
with women. She showed herself so far liberal 
as to be able to pay the requisite flatteries to 
scholars and artists, while remaining exclusive 
enough for the prejudices of her own higher 
circle. 

In this way, trimming her sails to the wind 
all the time, she had valiantly fought her way 
Upward in society now for thirty years, obtain- 
ing really remarkable social promotion. And, 
as there was plenty of kindness and good will at 
the bottom of her character, and she had noth- 
ing else particular to do in the world, at the time 
we meet her she made it her business^ ;.s much 
as possible, to give her poor relations a hoist up 
the social ladder. 

But, speaking generally, her hand had not 
been happy in what it had set itself to do in this 
latter regard. Werner’s eldest brother, Kuno, 
had been her favorite, and she had got him a 
commission in the Uhlans of the guard to flatter 
her own vanity. But the young man had spent 
so much money that she got tired, at last, of 
paying his debts. He had, in other respects 
also, so irretrievably damaged his reputation, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


55 


that it could not be otherwise than satisfactory 
to all parties whpn he met with a comparatively 
creditable exit from the world by failing in a 
duel, closing thus a career of which he had made 
nothing but a miserable mess. 

However, this did not deter Countess Wars- 
berg from her course of patronage. She contin- 
ued indefatigably her efforts at playing Provi- 
dence for her family, endeavoring especially to 
give their thoughts and actions such direction 
as would bring them closer to aristocratic circles 
and interests. The only difference was that she 
did not now put her hand in her own pocket to 
carry out her purposes, as she had done in the 
case of her eldest nephew. 

Just at present, it was Werner whom she was 
making the subject of her more or less kindly 
experiments. But the aunt and nephew did not 
exactly hit it off together. The truth is that the 
young man’s perfect contentment, in the midst 
of very moderate resources and circumstances, 
left her very discontented indeed. 

However, all that was to be changed now, 
must and should be changed. She nursed all 
sorts of great projects for the young man’s 
benefit. 

******** 

The morning was now considerably advanced. 
The sun was quite high when Werner, with the 
lounging bearing of a person absolutely free 
from any calls on his time, passed the little 
bridge which leads almost directly from the hotel 
to the celebrated Nassau Alley. He had gos- 


56 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


siped with his mother so long and fully that, for 
the moment, they had nothing further to say to 
each other. And his mother and sister had now 
gone for their bath. So he had to set about the 
task of killing time as best he could. Italy was 
in his thoughts ; but these soon merged in rev- 
eries about — Eltville. 

“Why, you’ve come in the very nick of time!” 
exclaimed his Aunt Malvina. He looked up. 
There she was, seated at the same small open 
space where he had breakfasted with his mother. 
The breakfast things had been cleared away, 
and, in their place, there lay an immense selec- 
tion of colored wools on the table. Countess 
Malvina was busy with tapestry work. “I was 
beginning to feel dreadfully bored, W erner. Do 
sit down and bear me company a while . 5 ’ 

“With pleasure,” replied Werner, very cour- 
teously, and sat down. 

“Well, what do you think of your mother’s 
condition?” asked the countess, drawing a very 
long green thread out of the piece of tapestry she 
was at work on. 

“Cheerful and happy beyond my most san- 
guine expectations,” replied Werner. 

“Oh! you can’t rely on that sort of thing at 
all — not at all!” said the countess, in very dis- 
couraging tones. “She was excited by your 
arrival, and the delight it gave her made her 
very lively for a little bit. But' the truth is she 
is very weak and feeble. I think she is very 
much run down indeed.” 

“Really?” asked Werner; and his counte- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS- 


57 


nance took on such an expression of disturbance 
and pain that the model- countess was sorry for 
him. 

“Perhaps I am too anxious,” she sighed; 
‘ ‘ there certainly is no fear of any immediate bad 
turn.” 

“Who is attending mother here?” asked 
W erner. 

“Doctor Martini. Why do you ask?” 

“Because I should like to hear what he has to 
.say about mother’s condition,” he replied. 

“Oh, dear me! I have just told you that, for 
the present, there was nothing we need give our- 
selves any special anxiety about,” the countess 
insisted; “besides, that man is a regular opti- 
mist — my very opposite. It’s quite a fault with 
me. I’m always loading myself with anxieties 
of one kind or other — always seeing things too 
dark. And when it’s about people I’m fond of 
I lose my head altogether. I suppose you’re 
vexed at my bringing you here,” she continued; 
“perhaps it was premature, useless.” 

4 4 W ell, perhaps there was no need of alarming 
me, as you did, ’ ’ said W erner. 4 4 But, consider- 
ing all things, I am grateful to you for putting 
it into my head to come here.” 

“Really! with that delightful journey to Italy 
before you?” 

4 4 Oh! what will it matter if I postpone that 
a little while?” answered Werner. “I assure 
you that, now I come to think of it all, I con- 
sider it was quite stupid of me that I did not 
plan to spend a portion of my leave with the 


58 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


mother. Indeed, I’m quite glad to be here, not 
sorry at all, not at all. And it was quite a 
delightful surprise to find her so much better 
than I expected.” 

He blushed deeply — like a mere school-boy — 
as he said this ; his voice partly failed him and 
he trembled a little. One hair-breadth further 
and he would have made himself quite ridicu- 
lous; hut he remained on the right side of the 
line and challenged only sympathy. 

Countess Warsburg was sensible of this her- 
self. She looked him over from head to foot 
with pride and tenderness. “Werner,” she 
exclaimed, “you are a splendid fellow! What 
a pity that you are not in the cavalry. ’ 5 

“Perhaps so, aunt,” cried Werner, with a 
little irony in his voice; “only just think, cir- 
cumstances might have obliged me to serve in 
the line, and that would have been ever so much 
worse!” 

The countess shuddered. “I would never 
have consented to such a dreadful thing,” said 
she, positively. 

Werner kept pulling at his very soft brown 
mustache. All sorts of strange ideas about his 
Aunt Malvina and her doings frequently came 
into his head, whether he would or no. So it 
was now. 

“Aunt,” he began, after a short pause, 
“wasn’t there something else besides my 
mother’s health? Hadn’t you some reason 
besides, for summoning me hither?” 

“Nay, W erner, my dear Werner, what other 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


59 


reason could I possibly have had? There was 
none, none at all,” she assured him warmly; 
“only — ” here she cleared her throat with a 
little air of perplexity, “only, as you are here, 
I am very glad, very glad indeed — h’m! — to 
have the opportunity of fully discussing with 
you some points in the circumstances of the 
family which leave much to be desired. Per- 
haps we can do something together to remedy 
them.” 

“Family circumstances! Leave much to be 
desired ! ’ ’ repeated W erner, anxiously. 4 4 I don ’ t 
know of anything that should be spoken of in 
that way, now that poor Kuno is dead. Has 
some other creditor turned up?” 

44 Oh! no, no; all that has been settled and 
done with some time now. I have in my mind 
quite other matters, things that touch us quite 
nearly, much more so than those old troubles 
— things that just now are really quite disturb- 
ing and disquieting. For example — ” and here 
the model-countess let her embroidery fall into 
her lap, and folded her hands with an expres- 
sion of the most graceful horror — “for example, 
there is your mother’s hat.” 

Werner’s eyes opened as far as they could go, 
and he stared at his aunt. What did it mean? 
Had she suddenly gone crazy? 

“My mother’s hat!” he repeated, “do you 
put that in the category of family misfortunes? 
Really, aunt?” 

“Don’t laugh, Werner!” said she, in grandiose 
tones. 4 4 Unfortunately you have no idea of the 


60 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


important part trifles like that play in real life, 
Hat, indeed ! Of course a hat is a mere detail, 
but the one she’s wearing here is only too un- 
fortunately characteristic of your dear mother. 
Then there’s Thilaa, with her grass-green barege 
and her mosaic brooch with its picture of St. 
Peter’s — a scarecrow, my dear Werner, posi- 
tively a scarecrow! It makes me feel quite 
uncomfortable with my friends who are stay- 
ing here at Schlangenbad. What- is the conse- 
quence? I have not been able to bring them 
together with my little circle here. People 
point them out to one another as the standing 
jokes of the season at this watering-place. I do 
entreat you, Werner, just see if you can’t — Ah, 
good-morning, Else!” 

The countess shifted the expression of her 
countenance quite suddenly and skillfully: A 
fascinating smile replaced, more rapidly than 
might have been thought possible, the care- 
worn look proper to deep anxiety for the im- 
periled family fortunes. She sprang up and 
held out her hand to a young lady who appar- 
ently had no idea except of hurrying past her 
with a courteous bow. Werner, of course, rose 
too, and took a look at the young person — and 
his eyes met the prettiest, most joyous, most 
absolutely sincere pair of blue eyes that he had 
ever seen in his whole life. 

“Allow me to present my nephew: Lieutenant 
von Schlitzing— Mademoiselle Else von Ried.” 

Werner made a formally polite bow. Mdlle. 
von Ried gave him a short, careless nod. She 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


61 


seemed in a mighty hurry, and, quite obviously, 
was not at all minded to stay more than a very 
little while with the countess and her nephew. 

‘ 4 Where are you off to?” asked the countess, 
holding the young girl tightly by the arm. 

“To laWn-tennis,” replied Mdlle. von Ried. 

“You’re too late for lawn-tennis, my dear 
child. Half an hour ago — more than that — I 
was walking with Marie Glynka in the Nassau 
Alley, and the lawn- tennis ground was entirely 
occupied.” 

“Occupied!” cried the young girl, with vexa- 
tion. “Why, I told Edmund Linden expressly 
to keep the lawn-tennis ground for me. Did you 
happen to see Edmund there? I mean at the 
lawn-tennis ground?” 

“Certainly! I saw Count Linden there with 
the two Sytzows and another gentleman, a 
stranger,” replied the countess; “a regular gen- 
tleman’s game.” 

“Gentleman’s game? Why, it’s my game 
That’s the match I’m going to play!” cried the 
young girl, with great vivacity. 

Countess Warsberg laughed somewhat forced- 
ly. “Else, my dear little Else, you are divine! 
You play lawn- tennis with four young gentle- 
men! But that’s impossible — quite impossible, 
I do assure you!” 

“Why, I should like to know?” asked Else, 
contracting her brows. “The gentlemen make 
no objection. I’m not the least in their way. I 
can play just as well as they do.” 

“Great Heavens! She is a child — a child!” 


62 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


exclaimed the model - countess, blinking over 
Else’s shoulder at her nephew, who, while this 
was going on, had politely retired a little into 
the background. “She is charming, charming; 
but a child — a. mere child.” As she said the 
words the model- countess gave the 3 r oung girl a 
maternal tap on the shoulder, and blinked at her 
nephew more energetically than before, with 
those eyes of hers that could not keep step with 
one another. She had it quite plainly at heart 
to draw his particular attention to the girl. 

Such efforts on her part were quite superfluous ; 
were more likely, indeed, to hinder than promote 
her purpose. Werner’s eyes wanted no prompt- 
ing in the matter ; they were already quite suf- 
ficiently occupied with the young woman. 

She was strikingly pretty; she had all the 
beauty of the choicest and most favored product 
of earth, something that had ripened under the 
happiest circumstances of soil, climate, and cul- 
tivation. Else von Ried was one of those girls 
that no man passes without turning round to 
have another look at. 

She was a true child of the district, so favored 
by Divine Providence, in which she had had her 
birth, and out of whose* soil she seemed, as it 
were, to have grown. The fire of the Rhenish 
vintage darted in every fiber of her body, which 
was exquisitely formed, with a decided tendency 
to luxurious fullness. No one could look at her 
for a moment without seeing that she was of 
good family ; but she had not yet acquired those 
final touches of perfection which make the “great 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


63 


lady.” Nor, on the other hand, could she prop- 
erly be termed provincial; that word did not 
apply to her at all. But she gave the impression 
of one whose intellectual and social horizon was 
not by any means extensive, though its limita- 
tions might have been due to protective rather 
than to prohibitory influences. 

A person of even much less power in reading 
character and understanding people than Wer- 
ner possessed would have seen quickly, as did 
he, that from the first hour of her life to the pres- 
ent she had reigned as undisputed queen in the 
little circle to which she belonged. She was, 
obviously, full of self-will, excitable, quite unused 
to any sort of opposition; but just as plainly, if 
indeed the excess was not on this side, her heart 
overflowed with goodness. 

In Werner’s view she was a little too self-con- 
fident in her words and bearing, and so far he 
was right ; but he fancied he saw in her some 
trace of arrogance, and in that he was quite 
mistaken. There was one thing, however, which 
there was no denying : pretty she was — extraor- 
dinarily pretty. One would have had to travel 
long and far to find any object more charming 
than this young girl in her light-colored tennis 
costume and her sailor hat with its white ribbon. 

“She is a child, a child!” repeated Countess 
Warsberg, working her eyes more and more en- 
ergetically for Werner’s benefit. Werner smiled 
vaguely, and the countess went on: “That the 
gentlemen are delighted to have you for a part- 
ner in their game I don’t doubt for a moment, 


64 - 


chords AND DISCORDS. 


you dear, charming little Else ; but — now don’t 
be offended with me, you enchanting little spoiled 
thing ! — it is not a proper thing for a young girl 
to amuse herself with four young gentlemen and 
nobody else there.” 

“I should very much like to know why?” 
cried Else now, seriously exasperated. “Why 
shouldn’t it be just as proper as with four young 
girls? I assure you, countess, that there’s not 
nearly so much harm in gossiping with four 
young gentlemen as there is with young ladies. 
The gentlemen never tell one anything about 
their love adventures, and the young girls, when 
they are by themselves, never talk of anything 
else.” 

This time Werner found her quite irresistible, 
and burst into hearty laughter. Else just gave 
him a look, short, but straight in the eyes, with 
her own pretty blue orbs, and then turned her 
head away from him. 

The countess, however, smiled as nicely as 
she could. “Is that so, indeed? That’s all the 
young girls talk about, is it?” she lisped. “And 
I suppose you manage to keep step, at least, with 
them in that?” 

“In ivhat ?” asked Else, among whose sweet 
peculiarities it was to forget, now and then, 
what charming nonsense she had made herself 
responsible for the last time she opened her pretty 
mouth. 

“Well, in giving a full, true and particular 
report of your little love adventures.” 

“T declare, I don’t know what I could say 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


65 


about such things, if I were driven to it ever 
so,” replied Else, with a shrug of the shoulders. 

“Why, couldn’t you boast a little of youf nu- 
merous conquests?” said the countess in a coax- 
ing, flattering way. 

“Oh, dear me! If there’s one thing that 
bores me more than another, it’s those con- 
quests,” said Else, with great decision; “there’s 
nothing in the whole world so stupid and tire- 
some as these everlasting ‘conquests,’ as people 
choose to call them.” 

“Can any one keep out of them very well, 
Else, especially if she plays lawn-tennis often 
with young gentlemen alone?” 

“Certainly they can, if they’ve seriously made 
up their mind to do so ; they can, quite easily. I 
can, I know. My friends know that I can’t stand 
any one making up to me in that way ; so they 
don’t try my patience with it. I do think 
there’s nothing so stupid and tiresome as that 
eternal love-making; it just spoils all sport and 
sets everything upside down.” 

“Oh, how amusing she is!” cried the count- 
ess ; then, threatening the young girl with her 
Anger, she said: “Else, you’d better not re- 
peat that too often, for the time will come 
when — ” 

“Oh! I’m very sorry, but I really can’t keep 
the boys waiting any longer,” said Else, rather 
shortly and sharply ; the conversation had taken 
a turn that was decidedly disagreeable to her. 
“Besides, they really won’t know what has be- 
come of me.” 


66 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


But the model-countess was not to be so easily 
shaken off. She smiled as if much amused, and 
following the young girl’s rather mannish way 
of putting it, said: “No, no— quite right, we 
won’t let the boys pine any longer. But, if 
you’ll allow it, Else, we’ll go with you a little 
bit of the way.” So saying, the countess stuffed 
away her work in a violet plush bag which she 
had on her arm, and asked: “Are you coming 
with us, Werner?”. 

For a moment he hesitated, and was obviously 
searching for some excuse for going in the op- 
posite direction, but could not succeed, and so 
joined the ladies. 

Else had observed this hesitation on his part, 
and also that there was something about her 
which a little displeased him. Such an occur- 
rence was quite out of the range of her experi- 
ence. It was a matter of course that, after she 
had issued her sovereign commands to that effect, 
no one should presume to pay her those particu- 
lar attentions she so decidedly objected to. But 
that any man should permit himself to look at 
her in the judicial, scrutinizing fashion which 
Werner had obviously done seemed to her some- 
thing unprecedented, monstrous. She boiled 
over with inward rage, and made up her mind 
absolutely that she would not vouchsafe him any 
further notice; he should be completely ignored, 
now and forever. Two minutes, afterward she 
addressed him with the following question: 
“Have you been here long, Baron von Lutzing?” 

“Schlitzi ng, if you have no objection,” replied 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


67 


Werner, the corners of whose month were twitch- 
ing with amusement. 

“Oh, pray excuse me! I find it so difficult to 
get right hold of the new names,” said Else, 
who was evidenty taking pains to be a little 
high and mighty. Didn’t he deserve it? 

“Stupid little thing!” said Werner to him- 
self, with those corners at the mouth twitching 
even more severely. “That I can prefectly well 
understand, mademoiselle — perfectly. ” 

But Countess Warsberg did not take the silly, 
thoughtless little speech of the young girl any- 
thing like so quietly as her nephew did. 
“Schlitzing a new name! What can you be 
thinking about?” she cried, exasperated. 

“Oh! I didn’t mean it like that, I didn’t in- 
deed; I only meant that it was new to me,” said 
Else deprecatingly. She was a little vexed. 

“But it ought not to be new to you,” said the 
countess, a little pompously, and by no means 
mollified. “It’s a sign of something wanting in 
a person of culture — positively it is— not to know 
that the Schlitzings are one of the oldest families 
in the country. 

“Most certainly,” explained Werner, in tones 
of great solemnity. “The herioc achievements 
of the Schlitzings reach back into the earliest 
and grayest of ancient days. Why, long before 
there was any such thing as a Margrave of 
Brandenberg, a Schlitzing was strung up for 
horse-stealing.” 

“Werner, that is a wretched joke — an exceed- 
ingly wretched joke!” said the countess, with 


68 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


excitement. “You know that I cannot endure 
things being turned into a jest like that. The 
least approach to sarcasm is quite repulsive to 
me.” 

That was undoubtedly the case. In fact, the 
intellectual food on which the countess lived had 
no salt or proper condiment whatever. “What 
you’ve just said shows a want of proper feeling, 
it does indeed,” she added, quite angrily. 

Werner smiled quietly to himself at this view 
of the matter ; it was the first time in his life that 
any one had reproached him with a want of 
proper feeling ; the truth being that, considering 
the temper of his century, he had a good deal 
more than is now to be found usually among 
educated people of that fine and noble supersti- 
tion of the heart which is the safeguard of sanc- 
tuaries and institutions. 

Else said nothing for a little while, then: 
“Don’t you find Schlangenbad a frightful bore, 
Mr. von Schlitzing?” 

“I haven’t been here long enough to be bored 
by it as yet,” replied he. 

“Oh, you’ll find a very little time will do for 
that,” Else assured him; “for there cannot be 
two opinions about it, Schlangenbad is a kill- 
ingly tiresome place!” 

“Well, God be praised ! if one may judge from 
yourself, mademoiselle, you don’t seem to have 
had much killing performed on you ; you and 
death seem to be about as far off from one an- 
other as well can be,” said he with a smile, al- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


69 


lowing his eyes to wander over the blooming 
young girl’s person. 

“Oh, I ? I’m not bored by it, if you come to 
that; not the least in the world. There are 
plenty of excellent friends of mine staying here, 
and some who are not staying take a run over to 
visit me. Then we either amuse ourselves with 
playing lawn-tennis, or in making fun of the 
people who are here for the season. Oh, dear 
me! what frightful guys some of them are, 
baron ! Do you never get any fun out of your 
fellow creatures?” 

“I’m afraid of trying it; I might be paid back 
too heavily in my own coin,” said the young 
man. 

“Oh, I don’t feel the least fear of that!” said 
Else, carelessly. 

“Probably such an idea has never crossed 
your mind,” he replied, rather dryly. 

Else bit her lips. He was insupportable, posi- 
tively insupportable. “Oh! I didn’t mean that,” 
she tried to explain. “All I meant was that I 
don’t care a fig if people make fun of me, for 
my part. Much good may it do them!” 

Every moment the young girl longed, more 
and more, to make this abominable young man 
change his impassive and phlegmatic demeanor. 

“And you may say what you like. Some of 
the people here this season are quite too absurd 
for anything. You’ll soon have to agree with 
me in that. Has anybody pointed out to you 
that elderly Englishman? Everybody says that 
he has a most remarkable receipt for keeping his 


70 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


]imbs as elastic as when he was a young fellow. 
Every morning, before putting on his wig he 
turns a somersault and stands on his head three 
times — precisely three; never more, never less.” 

“I cannot say that the gentleman has so far 
been mentioned to me, ’ ’ said W erner, who could 
not help smiling. 

“And those two old maids,” continued Else, 
“between sixty and seventy, if an hour. Both 
of them have cotton wool in their ears, and 
long curls; oh, you know, just like the Van 
Dyck portraits of the English royal family ! If 
ever by any chance the younger of the two gets 
into a conversation with a gentleman, her sister 
pulls her sleeve and says to her, in a sort of agi- 
tated half- whisper : ‘Baby, for Heaven’s sake, 
mind what you are about!’ And, then, sixty- 
year old Baby sighs and embraces her sister and 
says, ‘Oh, Amandine, you know what I am!’ 
The story goes that some one, ages ago, shot 
himself for disappointed love of ‘Baby,’ and 
since then Amandine is always mortally afraid 
that ‘Baby’ may do somebody a mischief.” 

This time Werner laughed heartily; he really 
could not help it. His laughter had a pleasant 
sound, as is the case with all good and whole- 
some people. 

Else was highly delighted with this success, 
and went on: “Then, there’s an old woman, 
from some back part of Pomerania, or some- 
where, who’s always going on distractedly about 
the dearness of everything— only just think, in 
cheap Schlangenbad !— and totting up how much 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


71 


the landlord makes out cf every slice of roast 
beef. And there’s a daughter, who’s disgusted 
all the time at her mother’s stinginess. Daugh- 
ter is always in the seventh heaven about Italy, 
has ideals of her own, always wears a mosaic of 
St. Peter’s as a brooch. But the grandest thing 
of all is the mother’s hat — a brown hat of colos- 
sal proportions, tied under the chin with ribbons 
covering the ears — such a set-out — ” 

Else looked up, at this point of her narrative, 
at Schlitzing’s face, to enjoy the delighted and 
approving expression which she was sure her 
picturesque narrative had brought upon it ; but 
what she saw was a very heightened color, and 
eyes that were quite gloomy and threatening. 

And, to save the situation, Countess Warsberg 
flung herself with desperate courage, so to speak, 
into the melee, with the following highly origi- 
nal observation : ‘ ‘ The weather is very oppres- 
sive to-day, Else; frightfully hot — don’t you 
think so, Else?” 

Just then there burst a confused cry from sev- 
eral male throats. 

“Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle Else! Princess 
Else! Else!” all aimed at the young girl. 

They had reached the lawn- tennis ground by 
this time, and became aware of four youths in 
light-colored flannel pantaloons and sailor-hats, 
and shirt-sleeves rolled up to their elbows, who 
had evidently been waiting long and patiently 
for their “pearl of the Taunusr country,” as the 
girl was usually called in her circle.' 

These four different accosting cries, which we 


72 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


have faithfully reported above, indicated the 
different degrees of 'intimacy upon which each of 
the four stood in regard to the girl. 

The one who had addressed her, shortly, as Else,, 
was a Rhenish man, an old friend and playmate 
of her earliest years, Edmund Count Linden, 
who was in the Hussars. His regiment was 
stationed at Wiesbaden, and, • accordingly, he 
drove over nearly every day to Schlangenbad. 

Although these young gentlemen abstained, 
in obedience to “her royal command,” from pay- 
ing their addresses — in the technical sense — to 
Princess Else, they were all, as anybody might 
see at the first glance, warmly in love with her. 
But the young Rhenish gentleman was, just as 
plainly, the one most absolutely devoted to her. 
For the rest, he was an old acquaintance of 
Werner Schlitzing, and, after he had paid his 
respects to Else, and reproached her for her un- 
punctuality, he cried to Werner: “Why, Schlitz- 
ing, what the deuce are you doing here, old 
boy?” 

“I have come to visit my mother and sister,” 
replied Werner, with a significant glance at 
Else. All the blood shot into the girl’s cheeks. 
She was seized with a presentiment, a most un- 
pleasant presentiment, that the young man with 
the beautiful gray eyes would turn out to be 
closely, but most undesirably, related to the old 
woman from “somewhere in Pomerania.” 

But who in tl^e world could have imagined 
such a thing? How could any young man possi- 
bly combine the characters of nephew to the 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


73 


model-countess, and son of this old woman? 
Well, anyhow, she had somehow bounded his 
feelings; that was clear enough. 

And she had the feeling that it would be very 
agreeable to her if she could make it up to him 
somehow. 

“Won’t you have a game with us, Baron von 
Schlitzing?” she asked him. 

“Thanks, no,” he replied, very coldly. “I 
have had very little practice in lawn- tennis, or in 
making myself merry at the expense of my fellow 
creatures. ’ ’ 

And, as he said the words, he gave a little 
sigh of shy perplexity, and gave her the military 
salute — that is to say, he put two fingers to the 
rim of his hat, forgetting for the moment that he 
was not in uniform, and turned to go. 

“Won’t you stay and look on a little while?” 
cried the model-countess. 

“Thanks, no,” answered Werner, with evident 
impatience, moving off. 

The model- countess looked uncertainly, first at 
him and then at Else. “ Well, then, I’ll say adieu 
to you, dear child, for the moment. Amuse 
yourself well with your four cavaliers. Oh, 
don’t run so, Werner!” 

Werner stood still, and his aunt joined him. 

For a little while they walked side by side in 
the deep shade of the Nassau Alley without say- 
ing a word to one another. Here and there, as 
they went, they traversed beams of the sunlight, 
which made their way with difficulty through 
the dense branches of the beech-trees. Then the 


74 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


model-countess broke silence, almost weeping as 
she did so. “Didn’t I tell you? Your mother’s 
hat is a calamity— a calamity for the whole 
family !” 

Werner said not a word. 

“And how — er — how do you like my little 
Else Ried?” 

This time Werner looked his aunt quietly and 
straight in the eyes, and then said with empha- 
sis: “Of all the pretty, superficial, heartless 
geese I’ve ever met in my life, she’s the pretti- 
est, most superficial, and most heartless. She’s 
a little monster!” 

“You are too severe,” his aunt answered, and 
for once in a way she was in the right. “My 
love, she is a spoiled child, that’s all. I can 
quite understand your being displeased at her 
impertinences, but she really doesn’t mean any- 
thing by them; it’s just her way of saying first 
one thing, then another. She plumps out her 
speeches before anybody and everybody, without 
a moment’s thought as to what may come of 
them, or whom they may affect.” 

“She has no right to chatter like that in mixed 
company!” cried Werner, with some heat; 
“just as little as anj^ one has to fire off loaded 
pistols in a public garden. You may be firing 
at sparrows, and hitting human beings.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

The afternoon sun is striking sharply down 
on the white roof of the covered walk at the 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


75 


Nassau Court Hotel. The climbing roses which 
grow over the cast-iron pillars supporting the 
roof droop slightly. What a luxurious abund- 
ance of roses ! W aves upon waves of branches 
covered with the rich blooms, and twining them- 
selves with one another superbly. A slight 
breeze comes up from the Nassau Alley to the 
rose-trees, and shows its presence by a slight 
shivering among them. The fountain in front 
of the house, where the waters are dispensed, 
with the lofty fir-trees and their peculiar pungent 
odor all about it, emits a sort of half sleepy 
sound with its falling waters ; and the orchestra 
of the establishment, which runs the drinking 
waters and baths, is playing with the phlegmatic 
sentimentality which distinguishes the Schlan- 
genbad orchestra from all the orchestras of all 
the season places of this habitable globe. That 
orchestra will render you — as will no other known 
to man — some fiery prestissimo of Verdi as a 
solemn andante. It is doing so at this very mo- 
ment. And the visitors are sitting round in a 
circle and listening, positively listening; visitors 
of every sort and kind. There are a few really 
sick people, shriveled mummies with stiffened 
limbs, and eyes either dulled or restless with 
illness, looking out of pallid countenances — un- 
fortunate beings, who, as the young people there 
put it, have come to Schlangenbad in order to 
beg of a kind Providence an extension of their 
leave of absence ; invalids who seem to take no 
pleasure in anything except the uttering of per- 
petual complaints of their wretched health. In- 


76 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


valids of a different stamp, who manage to con- 
sole themselves by getting up one deceitful hope 
after another of recovery, and who, as fast as 
one illusion goes to pieces in their hands, con- 
trive somehow to patch together another in their 
feverish desire to continue the enjoyment of 
life’s fitful fever. Another class, of people in the 
rudest health, haVe come to the place for this or 
that reason, as they tell you ; the only real one 
being that, for the moment, it suits them better 
to kill time there than anywhere else; people 
whose hearty laughter, the laughter of people 
entire in wind and limb, sounds like a personal 
insult to the disabled wrecks just now spoken of. 
But by far the greater majority of the people 
there are neither sick nor well precisely, just 
as they are neither very rich nor very poor, but 
persons who have not the least idea what to do 
with themselves from one year’s end to another, 
and who have come on to spin out a little fur- 
ther their villainously tangled life’s thread among 
the odorous forest heights and pleasant villas of 
the little watering-place. Old bachelors, some 
of these, whose flowering time was some twenty 
years before, and who have come to Schlangen- 
bad to display their intellectual wares of one 
kind or another — plans for political and social 
reform, it may be, which nobody has time to pay 
the least attention to elsewhere. Old bachelors 
of another sort, again; persons, these, still as able 
as ever to enjoy the things of this world, and 
whose self-satisfaction has never abated one jot, 
who stalk about on moderate incomes, and with 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


7? 


carefully preserved persons, to see what female 
victims they may peradventure devour. Then 
there are the second-rate Russians, and the 
wealthy Russians; English and Americans of 
various patterns, and, among all these variegated 
and inferior personalities, a few odd human 
specimens, with something of the true stamp of 
nobility and poetic value upon them. Perhaps a 
few elderly ladies, celebrated beauties at one 
time, who have retired to the little dreamy place 
to wake once more in their souls the echoes and 
memories of those earlier days, to repeat to their 
own silent selves — in default of other listeners, 
alas ! — the fairy tale of their youth, with its fairy 
Princes who came to woo. Others of this class, 
happier in this, that the fairy Princes are there 
too — now, also, themselves faded and worn — to 
talk over the old times together. All this one 
sees in Schlangenbad. Among the people, there, 
is much narrow provincialism, a tolerably ample 
representation of the superior classes, scarcely 
any at. all of the people who, having means, must 
still be classed as “mob” ; the general tone being 
one of a dull, monotonous uniformity that blunts 
every one of spirit ; while over the whole place 
and all the people, after all, there breathes some- 
thing of that genuine, true poetry of Germany 
and the Germans, in which there is never to be 
found conscious insincerity, and which never 
quite loses its antique, old-world perfume. 

O Schlangenbad ! Dear, dear little world-for- 
gotten Schlangenbad ! with your luxurious rose- 
bushes and phlegmatic orchestra, your delightful 


78 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


air, your shabby, kind, zealous waiters; your 
modest prices, your abominable table d'hote, 
and your incomparable coffee ! Long, long may 
it be before the railways and shareholders get at 
you, and spoil you with the locomotive and the 
stock exchange! 

The orchestra has just managed to screw itself 
up to something in three-four time, with decided 
accent and rhythm in it. Else is just walking 
down the Nassau Alley with that friend of her 
youth, Count Linden, after an extra hour of 
practice at lawn- tennis, and hears with astonish- 
ment this last extraordinary development of the 
eminent musicians. 

“A waltz! a waltz, I declare! What do you 
say to that?” she exclaimed, stopping short in 
her walk, with surprise and amusement depicted 
on every feature. 

“What do I say? Why, that I should like 
uncommonly to dance to it!” he said, in low 
tones. 

“But what would the model-countess say to 
such a proceeding?” objects Else, holding up 
her hands with a horrified expression. 

“Oh! never mind her. She has gone off to 
Schwalbach to-day,” replied Linden. And, the 
next moment, they were revolving round one 
another as happily as you please down the whole 
length of the Nassau Alley. 

There could not be a prettier spectacle than 
the two young creatures afforded, as they went 
circling away, their light frames shot with the 
beams of light penetrating the thick foliage of 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


79 


the trees, and relieved by the white, moss-cov- 
ered boles of the trees, as they went dancing over 
the lights at their feet, and taking desperate 
jumps over the roots of the trees, the stones, and 
other inequalities in their extemporized ball- 
room, and laughing more and more merrily as 
they came nearer and nearer to the music and 
the band. 

At the same little table where they had taken 
their breakfast, Mme. von Schlitzing is again 
seated between her two children, taking her 
afternoon coffee. The excellent lady is just now 
in a state of agitated vexation at the enormity of 
the washing-bill, which has been sent in that 
day, and which she has brought down with her, 
in order to have a nice angry talk about it with 
her two young people. 

“I declare, the people are unconscionable rob- 
bers!” she exclaimed, in exasperated tones, and, 
like most persons who spend most of their time 
entirely by themselves, much louder than was 
necessary. 4 ‘Five groschen for a habit shirt! 
one mark fifty for a petticoat ! It’s enough to 
make one’s hair stand on end, it is — ” 

“Mamma!” interrupted Thilda, quite angrily. 

“I should like very much to know whether 
you have the face to disagree with me?” replied 
the old lady, in high dudgeon. “If you’ve a 
fancy for being extravagant, that is your own 
lookout, though where you’re to get the money 
for it I can’t quite see. I for my part — ” 

Here Werner put his hand on her arm. 
“Mammy, dear!” he said soothingly, “Thilda 


80 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


didn’t mean any harm; but she has a notion” 
— he smiled, but his voice sounded somewhat 
hoarse and constrained— “she has a notion that 
it’s just as undesirable to examine one’s clean 
linen as it is to wash one’s dirty linen where 
ot{ier people are present. She does not think it 
necessary to afford impertinent, carping stran- 
gers an opportunity of knowing anything of our 
little money miseries. And in that — mammy 
dear, please don’t take it amiss — in that I must 
say I agree with her.” But his mood changed 
at once when he observed that, warmly as his 
mother had resented his sister’s interference and 
advice, now that he spoke in a similar sense, her 
old head drooped directly, and her aged hand 
moved about the table in a tired, confused, un- 
certain way. He took this poor hand, with its 
veins starting out under the pressure of the years, 
in his own, lifted it reverently to his lips, and 
said : 4 4 But, mamma dear, if it give 3 you any 
satisfaction to speak your mind about the wash- 
ing-bill, do so, dear — do so, in God’s name ! but 
don’t let it worry you too much. And, as for 
the few groschen more or less, don’t, for good- 
ness’ sake, trouble your heart so about them; 
Heaven be praised, that’s really not necessary 
now. And don't let your coffee get cold — don’t. 
Shall I give you a little more cream : there, is 
that right?” 

“My boy, my dear, good, sweet boy!” mur- 
murs the old woman. Her mouth trembled, and 
it was quite clear that her old heart was full, 
and speak it out she must, however difficult. So 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


she managed, at last, to get out, in broken sen- 
tences, and almost shedding tears : 

“You mustn’t take it amiss of me, children” 
— in a half shamefaced voice. “I put you out, 
I see I do. Well, it’s no wonder. But, if you 
only knew — but young people forget so readily, 
at my time of life things stick to one more — if 
you only knew how often I’ve had to think and 
think, and plan and plan, to keep the wolf from 
the door for you — and he was prowling about 
quite close, I assure you, for many and many a 
long year and day — if you only knew how I had 
to look again and again, when by myself, at 
every penny, in order that you might not go 
without things you wanted, and how I pulled 
myself together when in your presence, that you 
might not notice my anxieties, and so, perhaps, 
not be able to swallow the bit of dry bread 
which was all I could scrape together for you 
sometimes! And then there was that constant 
craving, gnawing desire for some change for the 
better, some little bit of happiness and good for- 
tune, not for myself — oh, no; but for the chil- 
dren! But no — but no! No change — none; 
always the same dreadful need and trouble, until 
I was almost beside myself. Oh! well, well, 
well ! All that is past and gone— past and gone ! 
It was the ruin of poor Kuno, certainly; but I’ve 
managed, God be praised ! to lift you up out of 
it, Werner — yes, high out of it. And Thilda 
hasn’t much to complain of in what I’ve done 
for her, either; and we’ve enough now to live 
quite comfortably, that’s true enough. But I 


82 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


don’t realize that anxiety and such extreme care 
as to our expenditure are now quite unnecessary ; 
it’s too late for me to do so. And I suppose I 
shall go on putting myself out about a few half- 
pence more or less as long as I live. And you, 
children, mustn’t be angry with me, indeed you 
mustn’t; you must be patient with me.” 

Werner was much moved. He put his long 
arm round his mother’s deeply bowed shoulders 
and murmured in her ear soothing words of 
fond, deep affection. And then a deep silence 
prevailed for a while at ihe little open place where 
they sat, a little apart from the others. Then, 
all of a sudden, a charming, happy, bright-look- 
ing creature burst in, so to speak, upon that si- 
lence. 

Werner looked up. It was Else Ried. His 
amiable face assumed a dissatisfied expression at 
once, and he took no pains to conceal it. She 
might, perhaps, have heard a good deal more 
than he cared of his mother’s words, and of the 
whole pitiful discussion. He searched her face 
with almost unwarrantable closeness. The girl’s 
eyes were filled with tears. 

She hesitated for one moment, and then came 
up a few steps nearer to him —he had risen to 
his feet, and bowed to her very stiffly indeed — 
and said to him, in a shy, beseeching way: “Be 
so very kind, Baron von Schlitzing, as to pre- 
sent me to the ladies. ” . 

He could hardly believe his ears. But he was 
by no means placated, or moved to forgive her-, 
his feeling was simply that of increased vexation. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


83 


In the depths of his soul he could not help re- 
garding this proceeding of Else as a piece of 
unwarrantable, condescending obtrusion. He 
was quite ready to believe that she wanted to 
repair the tactlessness which had led her into 
the blunder we have seen ; but, in his view, she 
was trying to do it much too directly, and — he 
had almost said to himself — coarsely. However, 
he had no alternative but to comply with her 
request. 

“Mademoiselle von Ried — my mother and 
sister. ’ ’ 

Edmund Linden, whom Else seemed quite to 
have forgotten, made the regulation officer’s 
bow, bringing his spurs sharply together, and 
then reminded the ladies that he had had the 
pleasure of making their acquaintance at an 
earlier date. 

Before Werner could help or hinder, Else, with 
her white little tennis costume, and her sweet 
little peach-bloom face, had taken a seat at the 
elbow of old Mme. Schlitzing, and was flinging 
her smiles about, here, there and everywhere, and 
creating, so to speak, a little island of warm 
sunshine, within a given radius, all round her 
little person. 

Linden remained standing. He was a little 
put out at Else’s sudden impulse to enter into 
these close relations with the Schlitzing ladies. 
When old Mme. Schlitzing, meeting kindness 
with kindness, invited him also to take a chair, 
he excused himself with the pretext that it was 
now high time for him to return to Wiesbaden. 


84 CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 

“When may I present myself again for a 
game?” he asked the young girl, as he took 
his leave. 

“It can’t be to-morrow; I have to go to 
Schwalbach. Day after to-morrow, if you like.” 

“If I like!” repeated Linden. “Why, you 
know—” Then he stopped short suddenly, and 
added: “Can I see to anything for you at Wies- 
baden?” 

“Yes, yes! if you’ll be so kind! Please do 
ask the porter at our house if my gloves are 
washed by this time, and if so bring the parcel 
back with you.” 

“As your majesty pleases,” said Linden, bow- 
ing ceremoniously over the right hand of the 
girl, and, pressing his lips to it, disappeared. 

Then Else looked up in the old lady’s face 
with that irresistible, frank expression of her 
own, asking: im May I have the privilege of tak- 
ing my coffee in your company to-day?” The 
old lady looked just a little taken aback, and 
was, for a moment, unable to make any reply to 
this very unexpected proposal, and little Else 
drooped a little in the midst of that joyous kind- 
liness and friendliness of hers which generally 
carried all before it, and murmured, ‘ ‘ Oh, dear ! 
I should be in your way! I oughtn’t to have 
plumped out with such a request as that, all at 
once.” 

“Oh! my dear child, not at all — not at all; 
certainly, certainly,” said the old lady most 
heartily, laying her hand on the young girl’s arm. 

“Oh, then, if I may — please, Baron Schlitz- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


85 


ing, go and order me some!” begged Else of 
the young man, who, while this had been going 
on, had been sitting by them a little sulkily. He 
still regarded the young girl’s amiable proceed- 
ings as being no more than a piece of intolerable 
condescension — nothing but a piece of acting. 
For the rest, he was even less certain than be- 
fore what to make of her, generally. Up to that 
moment he had regarded the little person as no 
more than a goose; now he was somewhat in- 
clined to apply to her the more formidable title 
of fool. 

She did not honor him with the least further 
attention, but devoted herself entirely to the old 
lady. 

“I dare say you are surprised to see any one 
in such splendid health as I enjoy at this place?” 
said she, laughingly, to her new old friend. 

“Well,” said Mme. Schlitzing, “you do seem 
a little out of place among us old invalids. ’ ’ 

“Papa has sent me here because just now he 
has no use for me at home. He is rebuilding 
our chateau again — the chateau on our estate of 
Krugenberg. It lies between Wiesbaden and 
Hamburg. Papa has some building done there 
every two years, at least. I’m always telling 
him that he’ll build all my dowry into those 
stones and bricks and mortal*. I don’t believe 
there’ll be a penny left.” Else laughed. 

“You are here with your mamma?” asked 
Mme. Schlitzing. 

“Oh, no! I am sorry to say that I lost my mam- 
ma a long time ago ; she died when I was quite a 


86 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


little thing. For the present, I can’t exactly say 
that I have any one with me here. I’m quite 
alone.” 

“Alone? At such a place as this!” said the 
old lady, with much surprise. 

“Well, upon the visitors’ register you’ll find 
my name with the words ‘and suite,’ ” replied 
Else, laughing. “And, in point of fact, when I 
did arrive here I came in quite regular, good, 
proper form, with companion and lady’s maid, 
all as high-toned and fashionable as you please. 
The maid is with me still, but as for the com- 
panion — she is a Miss Fuhrwesen, a Viennese 
lady, and is appallingly musical, in all. other re- 
spects she’s a splendid creature. Just now she’s 
staying in Sonderhausen, where she’s bringing 
out an opera of hers. Only think of it! She 
actually has induced the management there to 
put her work upon the stage!” Here Else broke 
a roll in two with great satisfaction. 

“Is there really such a thing as a lady who 
has written an opera?” said Mathilda, her eyes 
beaming with delight as she thus struck into the 
conversation. 

“I should rather think so,” said Else decis- 
ively; “and some of the numbers are very pretty 
indeed, and she made the libretto for it herself 
as well. It is ‘Maria Stuart,’ a sort of free 
version of Schiller ; and she has set right all the 
historical dates in which the poet blundered. 

“Great Heavens! what an awful woman she 
must be!” said Mme. Schlitzing. 

“She isn’t awful at all; she’s only comical,” 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


87 


said Else, in tones that indicated a humorous 
determination to stand up for her faithless guar- 
dian angel. 

“As for me, Miss Fuhrwesen interests me in 
the highest degree,” said Mathilda. “Judging 
from what you tell us, I should conclude that 
there must be a strong vein of genius in her 
composition. And I particularly love women 
endowed with any sort of genius.” 

“I can’t say I do; as a rule they inspire me 
with mistrust,” replied Mme. Schlitzing, dryly. 
“And, in this case, I think it a very unconsci- 
entious thing in the lady we are discussing to 
abandon her post of duty in the fashion she has 
done.” 

“Oh! great talents, great gifts cannot and 
will not be obstructed in their career by conven- 
tional scruples,” said Mathilda, decisively. “It 
is an essential privilege of genius to indulge in 
a certain exalted and fervently aspiring egotism. 
Ah, Heavens ! if one could but have the genius 
and privilege one’s self!” Mathilda gazed up- 
ward with an expression of ecstasy. “But alas! 
we poor women, slaves to duty, have no help for 
it; we’re obliged to let our talents go to rust and 
die out in the most wretched, miserable manner. 
Oh! if I were but free to act and live! Or if I 
had but the courage to seize on liberty for my- 
self !” she groaned. 

“Well, what then? I should be pleased to 
know what you would do under such circum- 
stances?” asked the old lady. 

“Devote myself to Art, live altogether for 


SB 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


painting, develop and enjoy my own individu- 
ality,” said Mathilda, with enthusiasm. 

“I wish you wouldn’t talk such wretched rub- 
bish,” said Werner Schlitzing, exasperated at 
his sister’s folly and hardness. 

“If ever I express an opinion that runs counter 
to your banal, conventional views, you are sure 
to call it wretched rubbish,” replied Thilda, who 
was very angry indeed. 

“Well, I can’t exactly call such views divine 
wisdom,” replied Werner, greatly vexed. 

Old Mme. Schlitzing shrugged her shoulders, 
and said: “Oh! let her be, Werner. We’ll try 
if we can’t manage to find some vent for this 
‘genius’ of hers. When I return home, I dare 
say I shall manage to do very well without her 
care and attention, and Thilda can go and de- 
velop that ‘individuality’ of hers wherever she 
pleases. And I can’t say that it is quite com- 
fortable to have any one with me all the time 
who talks as if she wanted me to die off, that 
she may be independent. So far as I am con- 
cerned, Thilda, please consider yourself as free 
as air from this moment.” 

“Oh, mamma!” cried Mathilda, as if she was 
much hurt. “You are always so irritable. Di- 
rectly one says a reasonable word, you take 
offense at it. I think the best thing I can do is 
to withdraw.” She rose and left the table. 

Werner frowned heavily. Collisions of this 
kind between his mother and sister were by no 
means infrequent, but they were not the less 
painful to him on that account. And they were 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


89 


beyond measure disagreeable if any strangers 
happened to be present. And, in the present in- 
stance, he felt he had himself to blame for not 
having held himself in better. His intervention 
had made the matter worse than it need have 
been. It was very uncomfortable now for every- 
body. 

Else was uncertain whether to remain or go. 
Fortunately, she decided to remain. “My dear 
lady,” she asked Mine. Schlitzing, with sudden 
impetuosity, while the three were sitting there, 
with their tempers all more or less out of order, 
“my dear lady, was not your name Rosa von 
Bergheim before you were married?” 

“Certainly it was!” cried the old lady; “but 
how did you come to know that, my dear child?” 

“Oh! then I’ve been hearing a deal about you 
fora very long time,” said Else, in high delight. 
“My father has often spoken so enthusiastically 
about you to me, and about your wonderfully 
fine voice. You were then at Schwalbach, with 
Princess Frederick Gunther. Have I got the 
name quite right?” 

“Yes, my child.” 

“Papa has shown me a picture of you; it 
hangs in his room. He is always saying that 
there are no such beautiful girls now.” 

“Well, there he’s quite wrong,” said the old 
lady, smiling and taking hold of the young girl 
under the chin. 

“And — and — he has told me that — that” (who 
had let the little witch into the secret that there’s 
nothing which so quickly puts old women in a 


90 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


good humor again as reminding them of their 
youthful triumphs?) ‘‘that — that — you sent him 
about his business, at last.” 

“Your father? Good gracious! Why what 
was his full name? I did not quite catch your 
name, my dear.” 

“Albert Ried.” 

“Why, yes, yes! now I remember,” mur- 
mured the old woman. “Albert Ried! And a 
handsome fellow he was then ! Oh, what a long 
time ago that seems now ! My dear, I have no 
doubt that it seems a comical thing to you that 
I wouldn’t have your father?” 

“Comical? Not comical at all!” said Else, in 
her warm, affectionate way. “I think it’s a 
great pity — that’s all I think. Why, you might 
have been my mamma, and how delightful that 
would have been.” 

“Do you really think so, you little coaxing 
puss?” 

“Yes! Oh, I must have a kiss!” 

“You dear, sweet, silly little thing! you darl- 
ing!” And the old lady drew the girl to her 
bosom. 

Just at that moment Countess Warsberg, who 
had got back from her excursion to Schwalbach, 
and had some Italian prince with her, was cross- 
ing the little open place where Else and her new 
friends were. 

The countess honored the little table, and three 
persons sitting at it, with one of her comprehen- 
sive semi-circular glances, decorated with a be- 
nevolent and condescending smile. The model- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


91 


countess belonged to that class of characters who 
know no medium ; they are always in the atti- 
tude of condescending to somebody, except when 
they are ready to sink into the ground in wor- 
shipful admiration of some royal personage they 
may have the chance of talking with. 

The countess gave them a wave of the hand 
and passed on. It was very rarely that she found 
time or opportunity to stop and talk with her 
sister-in-law, much as her pride was flattered 
when she was stalking about with her handsome 
nephew — although his tailor was so unsatisfac- 
tory. 

She was quite pleased to find that Else was 
less repelled than herself by the old lady’s faded 
and antiquated exterior. Only she could not 
possibly understand how the state of things she 
witnessed could have come about. 

Later in the day she met her nephew when he 
was strolling along the Schwalbach high road, 
near the house in which he was lodging. They 
had not been able to give him a room at the 
Nassau Hotel, perhaps because he had omitted, 
very foolishly, to mention his Aunt Warsberg to 
them. Werner was plunged in reflection; and 
when she saw him she cried : 

“Well, Werner, where are you off to now? 
Apropos , do you still think so badly of my 
little Ried?” 

“ Oh ! Heaven forbid ! J ’ said W erner . ‘ 4 1 take 
everything back that I have said against her. 
She is a dear, good little thing; a little too much 


92 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


high spirits, perhaps; but, except for that, the 
sweetest creature in the world. ’ ’ 

“Well, Heaven be praised! all that seems to 
be getting on quite famously,” thought the 
countess. She had sense enough to say that to 
herself only. 


CHAPTER VII. 

There was one person who was very much 
less satisfied indeed with the course things had 
taken, and that was Else’s old playmate and im- 
passioned admirer, Edmund Linden. 

Up to this very last moment it had seemed 
quite a settled and certain thing that Else and 
himself were to become engaged to one another. 
He knew that such an engagement was regarded 
as a matter of certainty throughout the whole 
Taunus country. Why, what was there to stand 
in the way? It certainly did notenter into Else’s 
plan of existence to become an old maid. And 
among all the people surrounding her there was 
no more desirable match than Edmund; and 
there certainly was no young man for whom she 
had shown warmer sympathy. In fact, her 
other suitors had, for some time now, given up 
the matter as hopeless, and retired from the field. 
As for Edmund, he was not one of those dreamy 
persons who get up all sorts of artificial doubts 
about plain and simple matters, and he had been 
perfectly satisfied with the way that things had 
been going — indeed, had not a doubt about the 
issue. He had all but heard the marriage bells 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


93 


sounding in bis ears when, this very afternoon, 
after that improvised waltz down the Nassau 
Alley, the two were standing still for a moment. 
And he had summoned up courage, at last, to put 
the decisive question to her. Then, lo ! all of a 
sudden, before he could get the words out, the 
girl had turned her head in another direction, 
attracted by the sound of a thin, aged voice, 
which was like nothing more in the world than 
the after vibrations of a broken violin- string. 
And then she had vanished utterly from him, as 
though some witchcraft had been at work. 

He could not get the picture out of his thoughts, 
of the girl sitting by the old woman, of the bloom- 
ing face looking up at the old woman’s face, with 
such an expression of warm feeling', so full of 
shy, coaxing sweetness and courage — Else Ried, 
his Else ! 

He had quite sufficient knowledge of the hu- 
man heart to be afraid that the old woman was 
not the person in the foreground of Else’s warm 
interest in that company she had left him to 
join. 

He was in a very unpleasant frame of mind 
indeed, was Edmund Linden, as, on that sweet 
August evening, he drove his fine chestnut over 
the long, shady, picturesque forest road to Wies- 
baden. A fine, sympathetic nature had this 
young Rhenish gentleman; and no disinterested 
person, acquainted with the circumstances, could 
possibly fail to be very sorry for him that mat- 
ters were turning out so contrary to his calcula- 
tions. 


94 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


Like his charming young playmate, Else, he 
was of a joyous disposition — a Sunday child, as 
they call such — and, like her, too, the Rhine 
wine seemed to have got into his veins, and to 
shine in his honest, beaming eyes. He was of 
middle height, his form was muscular and lean, 
and, upon the whole, well proportioned ; his face 
was of excellent outline, short rather than long; 
his features well chiseled. His hair was very 
profuse, dark blonde, and wavy, and his profile 
had character and distinction, in spite of a very 
little tilt at the tip of his nose. To all this add 
a pair of sparkling eyes that looked joyously out 
into the world between thick blonde eyelashes, 
dazzling teeth, and lips a little too full, perhaps, 
though beautifully shaped. Taking him all in 
all, he offered a contrast as complete as could 
well be imagined to the romantic minded, inde- 
terminate Schlitzing. Linden’s mind was of a 
much simpler order, of more straightforward 
perception, and more distinctly conscious of its 
own drift and purposes. He was fond of en- 
joying himself, and missed no opportunity of 
doing so ; but, being of a gay and easy temper 
and constitution, though far from pliant, he 
was better protected than heavier men are 
against vulgar excesses. He was very distin- 
guished in bearing, and in all other respects, 
even to the softness of his voice, which was very 
insinuating. He was cheerful, but had no par- 
ticular pretensions to wit ; had much tact, with- 
out general intellectual acuteness. His powers 
of imagination were limited, and did not go 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


95 


beyond what was useful for keeping up his nat- 
urally optimistic way of looking at things. He 
could very readily fall in love, though insuscept- 
ible of the tortures accompanying a really great 
passion. And, taking him all in all, he was the 
most pleasant, easy, amiable person to consort 
with that can be imagined ; and he belonged to 
that class of men whom every schoolgirl, just 
reaching maturity, falls in love with at the first 
glance, and who never inspires the least serious 
interest in a full-grown woman of deeper than 
average nature. He understood persons and 
things in general pretty well, including himself, 
especially as to the last particular we have men- 
tioned. But the knowledge had never troubled 
him much till to-day. And just now he felt 
rather disgusted and miserable. He had a vague 
fear that his career had got a twist in the wrong 
direction. 

“I wonder what the women can possibly find 
in Schlitzing?” he asked himself, again and 
again. “Well, well, there’s no explaining these 
things; it’s a question of magnetism. And, 
after all, perhaps, he won’t care a jot about her. 
He’s a curious sort of high-stepper; goes along 
past things, and never takes much notice of them. 
And there’s one thing one can’t help admitting 
in his favor. He’s as disinterested as a fellow 
well can be. He wouldn’t care one bit more 
than I do that the girl is a fine match, and that’s 
more to his credit than mine, for he has not any 
money at all. There isn’t such a charming girl 
in all Germany as our Taunus pearl. Why was 


90 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


I such a fool as to make so sure of her, and put 
off proposing again and again?” 

And, as he mused, the evening shadows grew 
longer, and the sun sank beneath the horizon. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

Eight days had elapsed, but Werner did not 
show much disposition to move away from 
Schlangenbad. 

He had not given up his purpose of starting 
off for Italy, but he postponed his journey from 
one day to another. 

He felt himself quite comfortable and happy 
at Schlangenbad. The peculiar charm of the 
little place had fascinated him, as it does so 
many. 

When, quite early in the morning, he heard 
the sounds of the old-fashioned choral, with 
which it is the fashion to rouse the people 
staying at the place, from their slumbers, they 
always gave him a vague, dreamy delight. 
That thin little thread of commonplace music, 
coming streaming through his window, together 
with the perfume of the pine-trees and the dew- 
drenched roses, was inseparably bound up, ever 
afterward, with his memories of the little Taunus 
watering-place. 

Each day, as he awoke, brought with it its 
own delight of thinking over the agreeable 
hours that were to follow till evening. There 
was always some charming plan or other afoot. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS 


97 


As time went on, he, of coarse, became ac- 
quainted with all the more prominent visitors. 
His aunt presented him to the Russian and 
Italian princesses, his mother to the amiable 

Countess O , one of the most interesting of 

those notabilities among the Schlangenbad guests 
who returned thither regularly every year. 

And this lady was, perhaps, the most con- 
spicuous among the notable persons and things 
that strangers had pointed out to them when 
they came to the place — “Countess O , daugh- 
ter of the most original, most intellectual and 
most fascinating of all the celebrated woman- 
friends of Goethe.” 

This lady was the acquaintance of whom 
Madame Schlitzing was proudest, and certainly 
the one that made the deepest impression on her 
son. He felt quite a peculiar sensation when he 
kissed, for the first time, the hand of the lady 
whose mother had known Goethe so intimately 
well. He felt, almost, as if he was in a place 
of worship when he gazed upon the finely 
molded beautiful face, and the dark eyes, 
which seemed to him to be filled with the 
luster of the great romantic period of the lit- 
erary history of Germany that marked the be- 
ginning of the century. 

But this too exalted feeling of reverence 
which, while it lasted, crippled all his powers 
of expression, soon disappeared. In fact, the 
countess herself drove it away, putting him at 
his ease with her charming jests and smiles. 

And then, indeed, he had an experience, the 


98 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


like of which he never had known and never 
again was to know. Where, indeed, except 
in this lady, embodying, as she did, that great 
spiritual tradition and time, could he meet 
with a fancy and imagination like this, which 
could pluck vail the flowers without tearing 
or doing injustice to the thorns, and which 
was preserved from excess because held always 
in leading strings by reason of the purest, 
noblest, highest order? It came to be with him 
so, after some intercourse with this deeply inter- 
esting person, that he hardly knew which to do; 
whether to fall over head and ears in love with 
her, old woman as she was, or to go down on 
his knees to her in sheer veneration. And what 
delight she took in his naive, youthful enthusi- 
asm, what charming things she said about him 
to his mother, after he had left her ! 

Yes, it was, indeed, a delightful time. His 
mother seemed to gain in vigor and cheerful- 
ness every day. The very fact of his being 
with her seemed to be an invigorating tonic to 
the old lady. His delight at her improvement 
knew no bounds, and he was indefatigable in his 
attendance upon her. He would gossip comfort- 
ably with her as she went along in her rolling- 
chair hour after hour, and every evening he 
piloted her upstairs with the greatest care for 
her every footstep. 

He had never forgotten how, twenty years 
earlier, she had often petted her little heavy fel- 
low, carrying him upstairs to bed if he had hurt 
himself ; or, it might be, when he had come to 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


99 


her to be consoled for some childish trouble or 
other, and had cried his little heart out on her 
lap. He had never forgotten, never would for- 
get, how sweet it was to hang on her neck when 
she had him in her arms, the delightful feeling 
of being carried up and up and up, half-awake, 
half-asleep, and of passing away soon after into 
some enchanting dream, which he might almost 
now fancy had been expressly ordered for him 
by maternal love. 

And so one day followed another, and never 
did he observe or consider one whit what Destiny 
— and Aunt Warsberg — were arranging in his 
behalf. 

As the repairs at the chateau of old Baron 
Eied were still unfinished, his daughter, of 
course, continued her sojourn at Schlangenbad. 
And as Mdlle. Fuhrwesen was still at Sonders- 
hausen seeing to the production of her opera, 
Else was left to herself as before. However, 
she had so many good friends among the oldest 
and most estimable of the important ladies at 
the place that her “unprotected ” condition was 
hardly taken into account at all; and it was all 
quite right and proper, in everybody’s eyes, even 
when a few of her young gentlemen friends from 
the neighborhood came on — as they pretty nearly 
every day did — to pay due homage to their Queen 
Else, the “Pearl of the Taunus.” 

But the young gentlemen began quite soon to 
come much less frequently. And then the old 
ladies began to put their heads together. 


100 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


And the old ladies, and likewise the young 
gentlemen, began to discuss the question, “What 
can possibly be the meaning of Else’s sudden in- 
timacy with these Schlitzings? She’s with them 
morning, noon and night!” 

In fact, she was — not quite as much as that, 
yet quite sufficiently to create food for gossip. 
They would meet one another accidentally out 
of doors, and then, when the weather changed 
and rain came on, Else would ask to be allowed 
to take her afternoon coffee with them. 

Madame von Schlitzing and her daughter oc- 
cupied two rooms on the first floor, each of which 
had a bed in it. There was no parlor, of course. 
But Else did not mind that at all. It was her 
especial delight to sit in the old lady’s bed- 
room and drink her afternoon coffee there. 
Palace or bedroom, it seemed nothing to her 
as long as she was with them. 

As for the bill, Else paid for herself, as they 
did for themselves— folks are' wonderfully old- 
fashioned and straightforward in their ways at 
Schlangenbad ; and they provided for what they 
took with their coffee pic-nic fashion, each 
bringing her share, the old lady furnishing the 
biscuit, which she kept in mysterious tin-boxes, 
and Else the fruit. This was sent to her from 
Krugenberg, her father’s estate; greengages, 
melons, and, above all, the juicy, golden-yellow 
apricots with hard brown spots upon their 
cheeks, the incomparable apricots of the Taunus 
country. 

When the table was cleared away the four 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


101 


usually played whist, at the same pine- wood 
table, with its reddish-brown varnish, where 
they had just taken their coffee. There came 
to them from out of doors, through their open 
windows, the phlegmatic sentimentalities of 
the Schlangenbad band ; all sorts of dreamy 
German measures. “To-morrow must I leave 
thee, dear, and my departure take/’ etc.; or, 
“Kind Moon!” and “I know not what this 
means,” etc. The sounds would mingle 
strangely, sometimes, with the rustling of the 
falling rain. And the perfumed breath of wet 
roses would come into the room with the old- 
fashioned tunes, mingling its cool and deep 
perfume with the aroma of the cigarette smoke 
which enveloped table and players in its trans- 
parent white clouds. For quite early in their 
intercourse, one day when Else had been stay- 
ing a very long time with the old lady, noticing 
Werner’s cigarette-case lying about, Else had 
said, “Baron Schlitzing, if your mamma doesn’t 
mind, smoke, in Heaven’s name. Why, I smoke 
myself.” 

Yes: she did smoke, after her own fashion. 
She, would take just three whiffs or so at a 
cigarette and then put it down somewhere or 
other; three little whiffs, just enough to give 
her blooming lips a suspicion of the aroma with- 
out driving away from them or from her the 
sweeter perfume of her genuine womanliness. 

They were very merry over their whist, 
laughed heartily at a revoke or not following 
a lead, and would argue for a whole quarter of 


102 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


an hour about the propriety of playing out a 
particular card. But there never was the slight- 
est touch of bitterness in their arguments: they 
did it only for the pleasure of pretending to 
quarrel with one another. 

Else was decidedly not to be despised as a 
partner. It was not for nothing that she had 
played every night for years with her father. 

Schlitzing declared one day to her: “You 
play whist unwarrantably well. A charming 
young girl like you has positively no right to 
be so superior in a matter of that sort, really 
not. You should leave something for the un- 
fortunate elderly ladies, who are required to 
make themselves useful.” 

Then she laughed at him in a joyous defiant 
manner, and her big eyes joined heartily in the 
laugh. And then, suddenly changing to the 
manners of an old-fashioned, very punctilious 
person, she said, very seriously indeed: “Baron 
von Schlitzing, I am sorry to see that you have 
very bad manners.” 

“Oho, I must have an apology for that, I 
really must, it’s I that brought him up,” cried 
the old lady. 

“I say, Mademoiselle Else!” said Werner, 
defending himself with a comical pretense of 
being highly exasperated. 

Else went on in the tone of some one giving 
an important and valuable lesson: “I want to 
know how long it is since it has been admissible 
for anybody to say to a young lady — who should 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


103 


be treated with proper respect — that she is a 
charming young girl? Just tell me that.” 

And then he answered with his fresh, candid, 
youthful smile: “Oh, I entreat you to forgive 
me, mademoiselle. I didn’t really intend to say 
anything so dreadful as that. My tongue ran 
away with me.” 

And then the two laughed so heartily and so 
long — out of sheer delight at their own exist- 
ences and in one another — that, at last, Thilda 
could stand it no longer, and said in her sour 
voice: “Werner! It’s your deal.” 

These childish absurdities of the two young 
people were of course an abomination to tran- 
scendental Thilda. 

When they had had enough of whist, they 
arranged games of patience. 

It is an odd peculiarity of aged ladies, whose 
future is but short and cannot by any possibility 
have any surprises in store for them, that they 
are often quite as curious as younger people 
about that future. Old Madame Schiitzing 
shared this peculiarity, and was a little ad- 
dicted to the practice of consulting the cards 
to see what oracles they might have to deliver 
concerning coming events. 

Else was glad to give her assistance in this, 
and did so with quite amusing zeal and discre- 
tion. The girl was of extraordinarily simple and 
clear perceptive power, sharp-eyed, and aggres- 
sively practical — if such a phrase can be used — 
and these characteristics came out on every oc- 
casion. When any particular game — of patience, 


104 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


that is to say — became so involved and mixed up 
that it took extraordinary skill and management 
to come oat right with it, the girl, when she 
succeeded, was as proud as you please of the 
achievement. And then she would snuggle up 
to the old lady and purr in her little tender way, 
just as a petted and spoiled kitten does when its 
mistress has it in her lap and is stroking it. 

In fact, Else was only too fond of being 
spoiled. 

And, as they went on amusing themselves, 
the music out of doors was heard all the time 
mingling with the rattle of the rain drops 
among the leaves and the murmuring of the 
fountain. By this time it had finished its 
budget of German tunes, and was now at an 
Aria from Meyerbeer’s “ Africaine.” In the 
composer’s score this was a song of exulta- 
tion and triumph, and was marked allegro 
molto animato. But the Schlangenbad musi- 
cians knew better than that, and transformed it 
into a dragging adagio. And Werner, engaged 
just then in arranging the cards for a fresh 
game of patience, turned his head toward the 
window and hummed the song, together with 
the words belonging to it: 

“Can earth show aught more beauteous, sweet?” 

Then, all of a sudden, with the air of an 
elegant goddess, coming at the very nick of 
time required in the drama to arrange things — 
though, in this case, it must be confessed that 
the “goddess” had no particular purpose in view 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


105 


— in came Countess Warsberg, plunging, so to 
say, abruptly into the midst of all this happi- 
ness and good temper. “Ah, there you all are, 
quite at home with one another ! How cozy and 
charming it is here! How goes it with you to- 
day, dear Rose?” — giving them all one of her 
comprehensive, semi-circular glances, which all 
but said, “if this does not makes you all feel 
happy, what in the world can?” And on she 
went, rattling: “Oh, do you want me to sit 
down? Well, for a minute, just for a minute. 
How nice it is here! Yes, you do all seem so 
pleasant and friendly with one another; I de- 
clare, it reminds me of a nice perfume! And, 
oh, what glorious apricots! No, no, thanks, 
Rose, no! I’ve just breakfasted with Marinja 
Ligowsky, and can’t, I really can’t. I’m so 
sorry; I can’t stay, positively can’t; such a 
pity. Adieu, everybody!” Then, another 
semi-circular glance, and she was gone. 

Unfortunately, this lady’s advent on the scene 
generally had the effect of upsetting them more 
or less; she had the unfortunate knack of cool- 
ing off any warm feeling that was about the 
room by the time she left it. 

The old lady, then, would move about un- 
easily in her chair, as though she would like 
to change for a more comfortable seat, and draw 
her shawl close about her breast, as though she 
felt a sudden chill. She did so now. 

Werner got up and closed the window. Then 
Else rose from her seat and kissed the old lady 
on the forehead, saying: “Now, I’m quite sure 


106 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


that you ought to lie down and he quite quiet 
now!” and then, with a friendly nod to Werner, 
she was making for the door. But the old lady, 
disturbed by this sudden movement of retreat, 
held the girl firmly by the hand, and said: 

“But, my dear child! Why in the world do 
you want to run off like that? Has any one of 
us done anything to vex you?” 

“Good Heavens, no!” cried Else, with unmis- 
takable sincerity. “It’s only that I’m sure you 
ought to lie down quietly, lie down at full length 
and have a good, good rest. Then, when you’ve 
been refreshed we can all set about laughing to 
our hearts’ content. Adieu, mamma!” She 
was off. 

That last word had escaped her lips without 
the girl quite knowing what it was she said. 
But it sank into the heart of the old woman 
like a drop of dew into the calyx of a thirsting 
flower. 

“The little creature is too enchanting for any- 
thing!” she cried, as Werner assisted her care- 
fully in arranging herself at full length on the 
sofa. 

Thilda, however, wearing her regulation sour 
face, was busy in putting some things to rights 
in the room, and wailed out: “She manages to 
get everything in the room out of its place. 
Well, God be thanked! one will be able to 
think and talk a little sense now. Oh, yes! 
she’s nice enough, but dear me, her super- 
ficiality — ” 

“I tell you she’s enchanting, simply enchant- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


107 


nig,” said the old lady, with some heat; “so 
unpretending, so good-hearted, so perfectly un- 
affected, and so wonderfully pretty in the bar- 
gain!” 

“Yes, she really is very nice,” said Werner, 
arranging, with his deft hands — their military 
training served him well here — his mother’s 
dress, tucking it under her helpless limbs and 
covering her feet. “The only thing is that she 
makes a little too much noise, I fear. I’m al- 
ways afraid of your getting a headache after- 
ward, mother. Didn’t I leave a volume of 
Gregorovius lying about somewhere here? Ah, 
there it is! Adieu, mother! Do we sup this 
evening in your room, or do you feel well 
enough to go downstairs for it? Yery well, 
I’ll come about seven o’clock to carry you down. 
If you require me earlier, please send for me.” 

And, so saying, he vanished, taking with him 
the volume of Gregorovius, the careful study of 
whose work he regarded as an indispensable 
part of his equipment for the journey to Italy. 

His mother looked at him as he retreated with 
some impatience. The old lady was a little an- 
gry with him: “Is the boy absolutely blind?” 
she murmured to herself. 


CHAPTER IX. 

Yes: the boy was blind! 

Else’s disposition was quite sympathetic to 
his, and he took the greatest delight in observ- 


108 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


ing her coaxing, clinging, affectionate ways 
with his mother. And it was a great satis- 
faction to him to think that when he left them 
— as would now so soon occur — his mother would 
be able to enjoy the society of such a lovable 
substitute for himself as this young Rhenish 
girl. 

It never entered into his head for a moment 
that he himself might have something to do 
with the manifestations of regard which Else- 
lavished on those who belonged to him. That 
Else’s proceedings could be influenced in any 
way by his existence it did not occur to him to 
imagine for a single instant. 

Italy was very much more in his thoughts 
than this girl. But there was something, at 
this moment, which interested and pre-occupied 
him far more deeply than Else and Italy put to- 
gether. And that was the pale, slender water- 
Hixie whom he had dragged out of the waves 
of the Rhine. Often and often, and sometimes 
with startling suddenness when just at the point 
of losing himself in sleep, he all but felt the 
form, dripping with water, in his arms — felt it 
grow slowly, slowly, warmer and warmer there, 
until it was filled with life once more. 

And if he so hesitated and hesitated as to 
leaving Schlangenbad, the reason for it in great 
part was that, while he would have given every- 
thing in the world to see his charming Spirit of 
the Stream once again, cudgel his brains as he 
would he could think of no way of reaching 
her. He covered his craving and longing for 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


109 


another sight of the girl from himself with 
all sorts of hollow pretexts. It was really a 
sort of duty to appeal more fully than he had 
been able to, on that memorable occasion, to the 
girl’s conscience and better nature. She required 
a sort of encouragement that perhaps only he, 
now, could afford her. She really ought to 
have the opportunity of telling him her story 
fully, and explaining fully to him the diffi- 
culties of her position. 

At one moment he went so far as to resolve 
that he would positively take the mail train 
next day and go to Eltville and present himself 
to Countess Haidenheim. And then, at the 
very last moment, something made him turn 
almost giddy when it came up in his mind: 
and that something placed itself as an invincible 
obstacle between him and the execution of his 
purpose. It was the kiss which the little Nixie 
had pressed upon his forehead when they parted. 

It was as pure and chaste a kiss as ever passed 
between youth and maiden ; but it had had the 
effect of dispelling from their relations that ab- 
solute ease and unconsciousness which might 
otherwise have existed. 

And after that sign, coming down as it had, 
to crown the excitement and agitation attending 
that first meeting of theirs, there seemed to 
Werner something inconsistent, impossible to 
think of, in renewing their intercourse on the 
plane of every-day conventionalities and senti- 
ments. 

It looked to him in this way. When they met 


110 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


again, unless his demeanor was marked by a 
warmth which could have only one meaning — • 
a thing forbidden by his narrow circumstances 
— the poor girl would feel his presence an unen- 
durable shame and reproach. For he would not 
allow himself to think that she could possibly 
be one of those frivolous and perverted girls 
who give and take kisses as though they were 
things of no consequence at all. 

The mere idea that she could be like that — 
crossing his mind when weighing these alterna- 
tives — was utterly repugnant to his reason, and 
gave him a sharp stroke of bitter pain. 

dSTo : he could imagine her anything but that, 
anything but that! Capable of the most un- 
bounded enthusiasm of devotion, self-sacrific- 
ing to the utmost degree, everything which a 
man in his highest flights of imagination longs 
for in the woman he loves, all that he could 
well conceive her being. But, levity ! Shame- 
less lavishing of her affections or feelings here 
and there! No, indeed! Such things were im- 
possible for that girl! Of that he was abso- 
lutely convinced. Then what in Heaven’s 
name was he to do? Pay his addresses to her 
in regular form? Childishness! Folly! The 
girl was quite evidently of the material from 
which a heroine of romance can quite easily be 
wrought — given the hand that knows how to 
do such things. But, wife of a lieutenant in 
the guards whose pay is a few miserable dol- 
lars a month! Such a thing as that she cer- 
tainly was not made for! 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


Ill 


There was another alternative. He might 
fling everything else to the four winds, take 
her life in his own hands, liberate her from 
her imprisonment, and bend all the energies of 
his strong youth to the task of creating some 
adequate position for her and for himself some- 
where, somehow. This alternative presented 
itself to him for a few brief moments — brief 
beautiful moments they were — during which 
everything seemed to go round with him, the 
very earth seemed to sink from beneath his 
feet, and he to be in very heaven — and then — 
then . . . ! 

There was his mother — the uniform he wore — 
the long traditions of his house. . . . 

It was a great grief to him to be forced to 
conclude — as he was — that he dared not permit 
himself to make that expedition to Eltville; but 
it was only too clear that it was quite out of the 
question. 

But — if only he were a rich and independent 
man — if this, if that! . . . 

There was no help for it. Things being as 
they were, the sad little water-Nixie could be 
nothing more than a memory, the dear and sweet 
memory of the most charming adventure that 
had ever come to break the monotony of his 
drab-colored, uniform, humdrum existence. As 
to any deliberate plan for giving sequence and 
issue to this dream of delight, a delight all the 
greater for the element of terror that to some 
extent mingled with it, as to any translation of 
its witchery into the region of sober realities; 


112 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


why, such a thing was not to be thought of! 
He must renounce such ideas now and forever! 

But the more clearly and decidedly he saw 
this, the more fixed became his resolution to act 
on that principle, so much the more did that one 
meeting of his with the girl seem to gain in sig- 
nificance and importance to his life. He laid it 
away in the most secret recesses of his soul, 
there where the warmth was greatest, and tho 
garish light of everyday was faintest, as some- 
thing too sweet to be classed with intelligible 
things, something absolutely foreign to the usual 
circumstances of human existence, something 
that had come to visit and make itself at home 
with him straight from Fairyland itself. 

So that project of a visit to Eltville remained 
unfulfilled. But his imagination went on work- 
ing and working, weaving thousands of bright 
quivering threads into the web of that great 
longing of his soul. And it became more and 
more difficult to him to leave Schlangenbad and 
put a greater distance between him and this 
spirit of the waters that so haunted his thought. 

******** 

Mademoiselle Fuhrwesen’s opera, meantime, 
had gone on its way slowly and surely to the 
glorious climax of being actually produced upon 
the stage. After the first performance the in- 
spired composer had telegraphed at once to 
Else: “ Overwhelming success !” 

Next day she sent Else a couple of newspapers 
containing articles which were quite enthusi- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


113 


astic over her work. And then there was a 
break in news from Sondershausen. 

And Werner had been about a week in 
Schlangenbad when Mademoiselle Fuhrwesen 
suddenly presented herself, bringing with her 
the melancholy intelligence that her opera had, 
thanks to a disgraceful intrigue, been struck 
from the repertoire of the theater. The lady 
seemed to bear this untoward event with heroic 
fortitude, and the more easily, indeed, because 
of her fixed conviction that it was really at- 
tributable to irritation and jealousy on the 
part of the disgraceful beings who belonged to 
the opposite sex. 

“The men were afraid that I might out-top 
them altogether.” Such was the final conclu- 
sion which Mademoiselle Fuhrwesen, in her ex- 
emplary modesty, not only came to, but freely 
expressed. “And, if the thing is properly con- 
sidered, I don’t think my little effort” (she 
always preferred to call her opera her “little 
effort”) “could possibly have been honored more 
highly than by the jealous detestation which all 
the men who have anything to do with music 
have bestowed on it. When a woman does any- 
thing mediocre their lordships are always ready 
to extol it to the skies; but just as soon as any- 
thing feminine does anything decidedly supe- 
rior, they are ready to tear it in pieces and 
trample it in the dust directly. But that sort 
of thing doesn’t trouble me in the least.” 

One of her good friends, too — no musician, of 
course, and therefore not jealous of her supe- 


114 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


riority — had drawn her attention strongly to the 
point that Germany and Germans were still very 
small and paltry in this particular, and that, 
speaking generally, woman’s position in that 
country and with that people, as with all na- 
tions defective in culture, was quite too sub- 
ordinate. Abroad, this was now altogether 
different. And, this being so, Mademoiselle 
Fuhrwesen had made up her mind that she 
would get her opera produced in Paris. 

In fact, she had already opened correspondence 
with the direction of the Grand Opera at that city. 

All this the highly excited composer imparted 
to Else the morning after her very unexpected 
arrival in Schlangenbad. 

Else paid very little attention to what she 
said. The young girl’s head was filled with 
quite different thoughts, sweet thoughts and 
sweet dreams. So she held her peace while the 
ether chattered on. 

The composer would not doubt for a moment, 
Else was quite sure, that she was being listened 
to with the most devout attention; and, accord- 
ingly, would let her own thoughts run on with- 
out the slightest check. As it turned out, the 
result was quite satisfactory. 

It was Sunday. 

Else — it should be observed — was by no means 
distinguished for piety, in the technical sense. 
Her father had educated her into extremely 
liberal views of things, divine and human. But 
that day she did feel a decided longing to g*o to 
church in order to express her gratitude some- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


115 


how to somebody, for making life such a beauti- 
ful enjoyable thing. Her heart was really just 
now deeply moved and filled with the instinct 
of worship; and in that frame of mind she had 
betaken herself to the Schlangenbad church, 
that extraordinary little church which had 
formerly been a gambling house, and in which 
now three different communions held Divine 
service one after another every Sunday, the 
Catholic, Lutheran, and Evangelical. 

A funny church it was, indeed ! An octagonal 
thing with white painted jalousies on its win- 
dows, and wild grape-vines growing all over it 
up to the very roof. Its very unedifying past 
was still quite legibly and unmistakably writ- 
ten upon its forehead. It gave one the impres- 
sion of a croupier who had become a monk in 
his old days, and reminded one of the saying : 
c ‘When the Devil gets advanced in years he 
turns hermit. ” 

When Else, on her return from church, where 
she had lightened her heart with prayer — before 
she found that relief it had been heavy with the 
weight of undefined, exciting, and yet blissful 
anticipations — when therefore she entered the 
Nassau Alley, the girl’s eyes were glistening 
with some tears not yet quite wiped away with 
which their own native brilliancy mingled 
strangely. Her cheeks seemed quite dazzling 
in their pink and white perfection, and pro- 
duced the same impression as the calyx of a 
rose just fully opened in the moist yet vigorous 
morning breeze. 


116 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


The worn-out old folks who were cowering on 
the white benches lining the Alley, and either 
trying, in a dreamy way, to feel as if they 
were still basking in the long-since quenched 
sunlight of their youth, or looking forward 
with inward shudders to the cold, damp mists 
that were to rise in the melancholy remnant of 
the day still left to them, these poor things 
gazed at her with admiration, not unmingled 
with envy. 

And as she went along she saluted them all 
alike, those she knew and those she did not 
know, with the same sweet, refreshing friend- 
liness, feeling the impulse strong within her 
to show kindness to everybody and anybody, 
just then. 

And this impulse was so very strong, indeed, 
that it brought up all her most tender and com- 
passionate thoughts in connection with a dear 
young friend of hers at Eltville, whose lot was 
far less privileged and happy, and whom she 
had altogether neglected to visit, for now ten 
days— these last so significant days. She made 
up her mind that she would atone for this 
neglect that very day and drive over to Elt- 
ville. It was the less difficult for her to form 
this resolution as Madame Schlitzing had, early 
in the morning, informed her that they would 
not enjoy a game of whist, or do anything else 
together that day, as she, Madame Schlitzing, 
and her daughter were going to be “very busy,” 
indeed. And, as she uttered the words “very 
busy,” the old lady gave a sort of magnificent 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


117 


wave of the hand without further particulariz- 
ing the “business” which was so to absorb 
them. 

Else found Mademoiselle Fuhrwesen sitting 
on one of the benches in the Alley as she passed, 
and informed her of the projected trip to Elt- 
ville. 

The Viennese lady had some sheets of music- 
paper sewn together, spread out before her, and 
was sketching the outline of. a new composition 
which, judging from the expression of her 
countenance, was going to be something ter- 
ribly grandiose and heroic indeed. 

“Very well, I agree with all you suggest, my 
pet,” replied the genius, when Else had told her 
what she intended to do, “but I implore you not 
to disturb me just now; I’m getting on wonder- 
fully with this, quite in the vein. As the folks 
pass me I actually seem to hear melodies crunch- 
ing out in the sand under their feet.” 

Else could not help laughing at this, and made 
off as quickly as she possibly could to order the 
carriage at the office herself. She was an inde- 
pendent little creature and quite used to shifting 
for herself. 

When she reached the office she was informed 
that all their carriages were always bespoken 
much earlier for Sunday afternoons. And then 
the bookkeeper, seeing how long the sweet face 
grew at this information, added that a carriage 
should be got for mademoiselle somehow, posi- 
tively it should, “Yes, even if we have to cut 
one out of this table here, it shall ! ” striking the 


118 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


table energetically with his clinched fist as he 
spoke. 

There was no more popular and beloved per- 
sonage in the whole Taunus country than Else 
Ried. 


CHAPTER X 

At about half-past two in the afternoon, 
being ready dressed for her excursion, Else 
met Werner not far from the Hotel Nassau. 
He stopped and spoke to her in the most ami- 
able way — and Werner’s amiability was some- 
thing quite remarkable sometimes — informing 
her that he was on his way to his mother’s 
rooms, and wouldn’t she go there with him, 
too? She said that it would give her the great- 
est pleasure to say a word to Madame Schlitzing 
and Thilda before she set out, but that she was 
afraid of disturbing the two ladies. 

He shook his head. As for Thilda, he would 
undertake, no responsibility. What she might 
do or say in afty contingency defied calculation. 
But Thilda didn’t matter, and as for his mother 
— “I defy you to disturb her! I can just as 
well fancy any one having too much of the sun- 
shine as my mother having too much of you.” 

This he said very warmly, but the girl an- 
swered, laughingly: 

“But I assure you there are times when some 
people get very sick of the sunshine — for exam- 
ple, when there has been no rain for days and 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


119 


days. I can certify you of that as the experi- 
enced daughter of an old agriculturist.” 

This made him laugh, too, and he said : 

“Well, we have had no reason to complain of 
want of rain at Schlangenbad, anyhow.” And 
as he spoke he gave the branches of a rose-tree 
a vigorous shake, which was all wet from a 
heavy downpour that had occurred only a few 
minutes before, and then he added: “But, on 
the other hand, if you had not been here, Made- 
moiselle Else, we should have been without 
sunshine altogether these last few days.” 

He said it with the simplest good faith, not 
meaning more than the words indicated, but 
meaning that quite sincerely; and he would 
have been astounded, indeed, if anybody had 
told him that he was “making up” to Else Hied 
or paying her anything beyond common atten- 
tion. 

Else told a servant who happened to be pass- 
ing ^to beg Mademoiselle Fuhrwesen to come 
with the carriage to the Nassau Hotel to pick 
her up, and then went with Werner up to his 
mother’s rooms. 

Werner went on first and opened the door. 

“Mademoiselle Ried wishes to know if she 
will disturb you?” he asked, laughing. 

“Else ! — good gracious no !” cried the old lady. 
“Come in by all means, dear child.” 

But when Else did come in she was almost as 
much startled as Werner had been before her at 
the disorderly ramshackle prevailing in the room 
usually kept so carefully neat. Place to sit 


120 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


down there was none; there was some article 
or other of clothing on every chair, and on the 
sofa there were three. 

“Why, what’s up?” asked W r erner. “Are 
you packing up?” 

Mathilda slightly drew up her upper lip and 
slightly drew down the corners of her mouth. 

“Oh dear, no!” said she. “We’re preparing 
for a party. You ought to know that any event 
cf that kind is preceded usually by a series of 
small earthquakes in our family — ” 

“A party?” asked Werner, in astonishment. 

“Haven’t you heard anything about it?” 
asked old Madame Schlitzing. “Malva has 
invited us to a tea-party for this evening. 
Hasn’t she said anything to you about it?” 

“Why, yes, she did ask me to come to her 
to-night — there would be ‘three human beings 
there.’ I think those were the words she 
used. I had not the least idea there was any 
question of a party.” 

“Three, or three hundred, it makes no differ- 
ence,” said the old lady, warmly; “one surely 
must make one’s self look nice.” 

“But you always do look nice, mamma!” cried 
Werner, coming between them to smooth things 
in his amiable way; “and, surely, there can’t be 
any particularly need of full dress at Aunt Mal- 
vina’s! ” 

“Full dress!” repeated Mathilda, pointing con- 
temptuously to the very miscellaneous articles all 
over the room. “Full dress!” 

“Oh, you don’t or won’t understand! I don’t 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


121 


want to look shabby when I am at Malvina’s 
and I certainly will not!” cried the old lady, in 
no little irritation. Then, turning to her daugh- 
ter, she continued: “Why, where is my white 
lace collar? I cannot imagine where you’ve hid- 
den it! Oh, how slow you are with your needle- 
work, how ridiculously slow! ” 

Werner had his own uncomfortable reflections 
as to what his mother’s exertions to be dressed 
well for this party might culminate in. But he 
kept them to himself. There was very little use 
in saying anything. He knew only too well that 
the old lady’s determination to look as well as 
she possibly could when inspected by Mal vina and 
her aristocratic acquaintances, sprang from a 
feeling of uncertainty as to her social standing 
which had come over her ever since she was 
forced, by her narrow circumstances, to live in 
a retirement little suited to her sunny, social 
temper. He was very sorry for her; for the 
rest, he felt no little vexation already with the 
“geese” who should so far presume as to criti- 
cise her old-fashioned, pretty things. 

“But, do sit down,” said the old lady, turn- 
ing to Else. 

“For the moment that’s not such an easy 
thing to do,” said Werner, laughing with a 
little perplexity. 

“Oh, I really can’t stop; I must go at once,” 
said Else. “You gave me to understand this 
morning that there would be no time to-day for 
a game of whist, so I’m using the afternoon for 
a drive out.” 


122 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“And where are you going to drive to, my 
dear child?” asked the old lady. 

“To Eltville, to visit a friend.” 

Werner felt his cheeks grow hot. “Do you 
happen to know a Countess Haidenheim in Elt- 
ville?” he asked. 

“Why, it’s exactly her I’m going to visit, or 
I should rather say, her granddaughter.” 

“Haidenheim? Ida Haidenheim?” asked Mme. 
Schlitzing, looking up from her examination of 
diverse pieces of lace which she had taken out of 
a tin box and which were quite yellow with age. 

“Yes, Ida Haidenheim.” 

“Wasn’t it she who had that great misfortune 
with her daughter?” asked Madame Schlitzing. 
Then, correcting herself directly, she added: 
“But that’s not a thing for you to know about, 
my dear child.” 

“Oh, but of course I do know about it!” cried 
Else, looking straight at the old lady with that 
frank, fearless look of hers. “And I know, too, 
what terrible things poor Lena had to put up 
with at our boarding-school on account of her 
sad story. Many of the girls wouldn’t have 
anything to do with her at all because of her 
misfortune, especially those girls who had proud, 
haughty mothers. I had lost my mother by that 
time, so there was nobody to prevent my being 
with her just as much as I liked.” 

“Were you long with her at the boarding- 
school together?” 

Werner went on, In strict silence, with his ex- 
amination of a small collar of point d’Alencon, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


123 


which seemed entirely to absorb him, turning it 
over again and again, as though he found some- 
thing specially interesting in the faded, fusty 
bit of stuff. 

“Only a year,” said Else; “for, after that, 
the lady who kept the school was obliged her- 
self to write to Countess Haidenheim to take 
Lena home. She had too much altogether to 
put up with from the stupid girls. But papa 
gave me his permission to- ask her to Krugen- 
berg for the holidays. Oh! how we did enjoy 
being together. You can have no idea how 
much she was to me. I used to have a sort 
of scarlatina every summer. Papa wanted to 
send Lena away, of course. But she insisted 
on staying to nurse me herself. And how she 
did nurse me ! There are a good many people 
who, when they nurse, are just like ancient 
martyrs in their devotion to duty and con- 
tempt of death. I mean they go on just as if 
they were, giving themselves such airs. That’s 
dreadful for the invalid. And there are some 
nurses who are just like machines, so regular 
and punctilious. That’s comfortable enough 
for the sick person in one way, but doesn’t 
move you to much gratitude. Lena nursed me 
as though nothing' in the world could give her 
more satisfaction-.* I never saw her so cheerful 
and tranquil as she was then, when she spent 
so much time at my bedside. Why, she used 
to sweep out my room herself, because the ser_ 
vant made so much noise, and I couldn’t, stand 
it. That’s the sort of person she is.” 


124 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“Poor young creature, poor baby!” murmured 
Madame Schlitzing. 

“Well, is that right now?” suddenly asked 
Mathilda, holding out to Madame Schlitzing the 
-dark violet “waist,” the sleeves of which she 
had been operating on, improving them much, 
as she believed. 

“Why, Thilda, Thilda, it’s perfectly hor- 
rible; that’s not how I want it at all!” said 
the old lady, in great excitement. 

“Well, all I can say is — yes, I admit it, I’m 
not very well fitted for this sort of thing, and 
haven’t done much at it,” said Thilda. “If 
you would only tell me what it is you want 
a little more fully, I’d try to meet your wishes. 
All I ask is to be more clearly instructed by you 
as to what is to be done.” 

“Thilda, you’re enough to make one jump out 
of one’s skin!” said old Madame Schlitzing, with 
a funny expression of horror. 

Werner felt just the same way. 

Else only laughed, in her sincere, hearty way, 
and said: “Oh, dear; I’ll tell you what, Mamma 
Schlitzing. Thilda will never be able to do much 
at this sort of thing, with this inspired artist 
hand of hers. “Will you allow me to send you 
my maid?” 

“For Heaven’s sake, no; certainly not!” cried 
Madame Schlitzing; “I’ve got quite used to your 
knowing all about my poor little shabby ward- 
robe, dear child ! But I should die of shame if 
I had to go into it all with your maid.” 

There was a knock at the door. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


125 


“ That will be my Fuhrwesen,” said Else. 
“She was to pick me up here. Perhaps you’d 
rather not have her come in, just now.” 

“Oh, really, now — really!” cried Mathilda, 
with great vivacity. “But you , mamma — if 
it’s disagreeable to you, of course not! But I 
should feel the greatest interest, as far as I am 
concerned, in making the acquaintance of a lady 
of such genius.” 

Else opened the door. 

“Dear little Fuhrwesen!” she cried. 

“The very person,” was replied by somebody 
unseen. 

“Come along in !” 

Then there stepped into the room a lady with 
very short 16 wer limbs, with a big brown tuft 
of curls over her forehead, which bulged out 
under a yellow hat of eccentric shape, and 
wearing a cloak of some thick cinnamon col- 
ored woolen stuff, with a gigantic collar or 
supplementary tippet. 

Then followed the introduction of her to 
everybody present. 

“But, Else, dear, you really must come if we 
are to have this drive!” cried the Viennese 
lady. Then bowing to the others: “It gives me 
very great pleasure to make your acquaintance, 
ladies; but, if we are really to go to Eltville to- 
day, Else, pet, we have no time to lose. The 
carriage has been waiting now for a quarter of 
an hour.” 

“Let us see one another again quite soon, 
quite soon!” they all said to one another. 


126 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


Then Werner escorted Else down to the car- 
riage. Little attentions of that kind were not 
at all usual with him. Else was quite aware of 
.that, and could not help attaching special im- 
portance to this and other little demonstrations 
pf the same kind. Poor Else! Poor girl! As 
she went down the stairs with him she gave 
him a good sidelong look. She observed on his 
face an expression of tenderness, as though he 
were deeply moved by something, an expression 
she had never before seen there. Her heart beat 
strongly. 

“Shall you be to-night at my Aunt Malva’s?” 
he asked, as he assisted her in to the carriage, 
into which he had already put Mademoiselle 
Fuhrwesen. 

“She has invited me,” replied Else. “If it 
is not too late when I get back from Eltville I 
shall certainly go there.” 

“Then be sure and don’t come back too late 
from Eltville,” said Werner, in a coaxing voice. 

Else’s heart beat stronger. He kept staying 
on at the carriage step, as though it was difficult 
for him to let her go. And the truth is, she had 
never pleased him so well as that day. And he 
was trying his best to make up his mind, turn- 
ing the subject this way and that, whether he 
could not send some kind of poetic little message 
to his melancholy little water-Nixie through 
Else — something enigmatic, mysterious, with a 
veil over it which she would see through and 
nobody else. However, nothing satisfactory 
occurred to him, so he simply kissed Else’s 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


127 


hand — for the first time in their acquaintance 
— put up the carriage steps, and gazed at her 
steadily with his tender, dreamy eyes as the car- 
riage went off, with his thoughts filled with — 
not Else at all — but quite another person. But 
how could she or anybody else divine such a 
thing? 

4 ‘Oh, I say, pet Else, that Schlitzing is over 
head and ears in love with you,” remarked 
Mdlle. Fuhrwesen, who, we must say, was per- 
perfectly justified in coming to that conclusion. 
And Else saying nothing, but turning her glow- 
ing little face in another direction, the Viennese 
lady went on: “Well, I’ve nothing to say 
against it, I’m sure. He’s one of the handsomest 
fellows I ever saw, and an excellent character, 
I’ve no doubt. But has he got .anything?” 

“How should I know anything about it?” said 
Else, with a little vexation. 

“Oh! well, I only asked. Why do his women 
folk dress so, and pinch so? Is it poverty, really, 
or because they’re simply close-fisted? One 
never can tell, with those Prussians. Well, as 
I’ve said, I wash my hands in innocence. And 
if papa has no objection — ” 

“I should like to know what you mean. What 
is papa to have no objection to, pray?” cried 
Else. She tried her best to seem extremely angry, 
not with much effect. 


128 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


CHAPTER XI. 

It was about half-past four when the carriage 
with the two ladies stopped at the uncanny edi- 
fice, which had the air of an old palace trans- 
formed into a prison or a lunatic asylum. 

From behind one of the gratings, with its 
curious, grotesque twists, there came the sound 
of prayers— hard, cold mutterings, without a 
trace of sensibility. Mdlle. Fuhrwesen raised 
her brows as high as they would go. “Oh! 
Heaven have mercy upon us, Else, dear!” she 
cried, “the same story, the same old story! 
Well, well! It’s best, perhaps, not to disturb 
the old devotee when she’s at her favorite work; 
though I certainly think I should be doing her 
Maker a service by protecting Him a little while 
from these perpetual, servile, obtrusive solicita- 
tions which the unsupportable old pietist is al- 
ways boring Him with. However, after all, it’s 
no business of mine. You and your friend would 
like to have your gossip all to yourselves, and 
I’ll go my own way and have a good look at the 
Rhine. Besides, I’ve taken the precaution of 
bringing music-paper with me. Perhaps I shall 
compose a new finale to my third act.” 

So saying, the Viennese lady, one of the queer- 
est, certainly, but also best-hearted creatures in 
the world, hurried away, making all the tassels 
of her remarkable cloak dance about like the 
trappings of a mule in a high trot. 

Else stepped into the niche, the recess where 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


129 


the door was at which Lena had given Werner 
that kiss. She pushed open the little door and 
went into the courtyard, where the tall poplars 
were that looked like cypresses. The old yel- 
low dog made a confused, hoarse sound at first, 
something between a growl and a bark, and then 
yawned and wagged his tail. 

Else stepped into the hall of the mansion, 
which was high and vaulted. A young girl 
came flying to her, a creature tall for her years, 
half a head taller than Else, with large, clear 
eyes set in a pale, mobile countenance surmounted 
by a profusion of brown curls. 

“Else! what a surprise! Oh, good Heavens! 
how delighted I am to see you ! And how sweet 
and good of you to come!” And Lena kissed her 
friend with such an overflowing passion of ten- 
derness that she almost took Else’s breath away. 

4 4 Oh r I say, Lena, ’ ’ laughed out Else, at last, 
when she could get a chance, 44 what in the world 
has come to you? you’re like a crazy creature!” 

4 4 Oh, it’s only that I’m so frightfully glad 
that there is one being in the world to love 
wholly and utterly and absolutely, ” replied Lena ; 
4 4 and how often, pray, do I get a chance to do 
that, Else? But now, come along to my room; 
it’s almost pretty there to-day. I’ve crammed 
as many roses into it as it will hold, to keep 
down the musty smell. I was in there with 
grandmother — grandmother’s room, I mean — 
when I saw you come in. We are not to disturb 
her just now, but we’re to take coffee with her 
at half-past five. She gave me her gracious per- 


130 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


mission to invite you, although she still fir Is it 
quite impossible to conceive how it can be that 
you have permission to keep up your intercourse 
with me.” 

‘ ‘ Gracious goodness ! why should I not ? ’ ’ asked 
Else, in her warmest tones. 

“Yes, why — why?” Lena’s eyes grew very 
dark. “Because I — oh, you know all about it; 
everybody knows about it — because I am the 
child of sin, and, as such, belong irrevocably to 
sin; don’t properly belong to anything else, and, 
of course, must spread sin wherever I go!” And 
suddenly the big tears came into her eyes. 
“That’s what she tells me every day. Oh, God! 
you cannot think how terribly it makes me feel ! 
What wouldn’t I give if I were like other girls; 
you, for example, who have come to nineteen 
years, and haven’t the faintest notion what sin 
means!” 

“Not the faintest notion?” cried Else, quite 
hurt. “What an idea! I know what it is, just 
as well as you do. ’ ’ 

“Is that so? Do you, really?” 

“Yes, I know all about it.” And then she 
added, in a very low voice, and with some solem- 
nity, “It’s having children without being mar- 
ried, or running away from your husband after 
you are married.” 

“Why, you are quite formidably learned!” 
cried Lena, and began to laugh so that the tears 
which had been gathering on her cheeks sud- 
denly fell from them. 

Then Else put her arm quite tenderly round 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


131 


her friend’s neck and said, in a low voice, speak- 
ing at her ear: “And I know something else, 
too, that it’s very wrong of your grandmother, 
and that such a hateful, ugly thing as that could 
never happen to you — never, never, I don’t care 
what your grandmother chooses to prophesy !” 

Lena stared straight before her, looking away 
from- her friend and into the distance. “Oh, if 
I only knew that! if only I could be quite, quite 
sure of that ! But I sometimes feel such anguish 
that I want to throw myself into the water, and 
so run away from my fate — God knows what 
fate ! And — I’ll let you into a secret. I tried 
that once — ” 

“What! throwing yourself into the water?” 

“ Yes ; but something happened which brought 
it all to nothing.” 

“What was it, an accident — or somebody?” 

“It was an accident, in the shape of some- 
body.” 

And, as she uttered those words, there came 
into her eyes such a peculiar light, so full of 
tenderness and delight, that even innocent Else 
could not help exclaiming : “Do you know how 
you look? You look as if you had fallen in love 
with that accident /” 

“Fallen in love — fallen in love!” murmured 
Lena, closing her eyes. “That is such a stupid 
phrase. Grandmother often uses it; and, then, 
I think it not only stupid, but hateful, ugly. 
Fallen in love — no, not at all ! It only seemed to 
me that a ray of sunshiny hope found its way 
into my heart. I ought not to have let it get in 


132 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


there at all, I am quite aware of that; for, gen- 
erally, any ray of hope is nothing more than a 
disturber of one’s peace; sheer resignation is 
best. But, this time, it came with such a be- 
witching countenance, and began to tell me such 
wonderful fairy tales that I couldn’t find courage 
to shut the door in its face.” 

Before this dialogue took place, they had come 
to Lena’s room, a big bare room, smelling musty 
with lime and other unpleasantness. It produced 
the impression of a prisoner’s cell. 

The windows were wide open, and the sum- 
mer air and sunshine had access to the apart- 
ment ; but the summer air could not warm, and 
the sunshine could not light it, the walls were 
too thick, the window recesses too deep. 

The few articles of furniture were dark colored, 
and of awkward, ugly make. The flowers which 
Lena had bestowed there in profusion — we have 
heard her tell Else about them — had a melan- 
choly air about them in this incongruous place. 
One might almost fancy that they paled visibly 
as you looked at them. And their perfume, strong 
as it was, did not suffice to neutralize the 
ancient, musty smell of the room; it pierced 
through everything. 

The two girls were seated on a large sofa-bed 
covered with brown cotton. The rustling sound 
of the Rhine waters came into the room, as well 
as the twittering of the birds which were dart- 
ing hither and thither in the sunshine. But 
these sounds were unheard by the girls; they 
had ears only for one another. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


133 


“Now confess, confess!” said Else, teasingly 
and tenderly. “Confess all about that fairy- 
tale which Hope told you!” 

“Ah, me! nothing but a fairy-tale — no sub- 
stance in it whatever!” Lena was leaning back 
with her eyes half closed. Suddenly she raised 
her head, and looked full and steadily at her 
friend and asked, with some difficulty: “Else, 
do you think I’m pretty?” 

“Pretty, indexed? Why, you’re wonderfully 
pretty, bewitchingly pretty,” Else assured her 
with unmistakable sincerity. 

“Pretty enough for somebody to commit folly 
for me some day?” Lena asked breathlessly, her 
whole frame tense with emotion. 

“Yes, quite enough, precisely enough, more 
than enough. You look as if you were made 
to turn somebody’s head,” Else said, with great 
decision. 

Lena drew her to her bosom, and kissed her 
excitedly. 

“Why, you’re just like an intoxicated creature, 
Lena,” laughed Else. 

“I’m afraid you are only too right,” confessed 
Lena humbly. “In truth, it doesn’t take much 
to intoxicate a creature who’s all but starving.” 

“But you really must let me know all about 
the fairy-tale.” 

4 4 Fairy-tale ! fairy-tale ! It’s nothing but stuff 
and nonsense! You’d better tell me what you’ve 
been doing with yourself all that time at Schlan- 
genbad. You must have found plenty of amuse- 
ment, otherwise you would not have been so 


134 CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 

long without coming to look me up. Have you 
made any new acquaintances?” 

“Yes, very nice acquaintances.” 

“Who may those be?” 

“An old lady and her daughter.” 

“And the daughter is something more, I sup- 
pose; a new friend. I am jealous, I warn you!” 
said Lena. “Is she about your age?” 

“Who? the old lady?” asked Else, half laugh- 
ing. 

“Yo; the daughter, the young girl.” 

“Oh! she’s not really her daughter; she’s a 
stepdaughter, and she isn’t exactly young; she’s 
two-and-thirty, at least — quite an old thing. I 
don’t like her much, I must say. She’s too clever 
for me; at least, she very frequently gives me to 
understand that I’m too stupid for her. She is 
very gifted, if you please — paints and reads 
Schopenhauer. I really don’t know how it is, 
bht I can’t endure these so-called talented, gifted 
women — I really can’t!” 

“ Well, where does the niceness of these new 
acquaintances come in? I haven’t heard yet.” 

“Oh, dear! the old woman is such a dear, 
sweet thing!” said Else. “She is so kind and 
nice with -me! And, do you know, Lena, I’m 
made so that I am quite delighted when anybody 
spoils me a little. It would be so delightful to 
have a mother like that !” 

“Well” — Lena smiled a little slyly — “if this 
delightful old lady has a son, perhaps that might 
be managed somehow. ” 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


135 


“Oh! Lena, Lena!” cried Else, quite angrily. 
“How can you possibly think of such a thing?” 

“Such a thing as what? That an old lady 
may very possibly have a son?” said Lena, sig- 
nificantly. 

“No! But— but— ” 

“Well, has she really no son?” 

“Yes, she has one, but — but — ” 

“He’s an insupportable, pedantic monster, like 
his sister,” conjectured Lena, in a careless sort 
of way. 

“No, God knows he isn’t — nothing of the 
kind!” cried Else, in exasperated tones. “He is 
quite nice, really nice. He has such charming 
ways with his mother! Just think! he is an 
officer in the guards, and is at work at the Berlin 
W ar School. And it appears — so his mother . 
says, at least, and Linden too, who has known 
him a long time — that he is expected to do great 
things. And he has got a two-months’ leave of 
absence to go abroad, and improve himself in 
the languages. And then, all of a sudden, he ' 
says nothing to nobody but just puts his journey 
to Italy on one side, to come and stay with his 
old mother and cheer her up.” 

“Is that so? Keally, an exemplary youth!” 
remarked Lena, as if she were saying something 
quite deep and original. 

“I should like to know what you mean by 
‘exemplary youth’?” asked Else, whom the 
phrase didn’t please. “Do you mean a dull, 
Philistine kind of body? Because, if you do, he 
isn’t that kind of person at all — not at all!” 


• 136 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“Oh! I only meant a youth from whom other 
youths might take example,” said Lena, care- 
lessly. 

“Well, that he certainly is!” said Else, 
warmly. “Oh, you needn’t look so sarcastic! 
If you only saw him with his old mother, you 
would have no inclination to laugh, I promise 
you. The old woman broke her foot last spring, 
and is still a little lame. So, he carries her up 
and down stairs. And jmu should see his affec- 
tionate face when he does it, and how careful he 
is to hold her properly, and how tenderly and 
sweetly he pulls her dress this way and that, to 
make her comfortable when he lays her down. 
A poor old silk dress it is, that shines like a flat- 
iron. And — and the old woman is so kind and 
clever and warm-hearted ! a bewitching old 
woman she is, I assure you. Both of them are 
so entirely chips from the same block, mother 
and son. But she is quite fussy and fretful 
about trifles sometimes. She seems to have had 
a great deal of trouble earlier, and she excites 
herself terribly about nothing at all sometimes. 
And then you should see how the daughter lec- 
tures her. But he never loses patience with the 
old woman, never by any chance. And — and — 
this I’ve heard from Edmund Linden — he is in a 
regiment of the guards in Berlin, all of them 
terribly rich officers. He has very little to spen d , 
yet never goes a farthing in debt. Not that 
there’s so much in that, after all. There are 
plenty of young people who do that, but some of 
them make a disgusting show of it, and are al- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


137 


ways telling their parents of the privations they 
have to put up with, till the poor things are 
almost ashamed at ha ving brought them into the 
world, seeing that they can give them so little. 
A merry fellow that runs in debt is better, I 
think, than a tiresome, conceited, reasoning ani- 
mal of that kind. But he’s quite different, quite. 
He puts up simply with his lot, and hasn’t the 
least idea that he is making any sacrifice or 
doing anything fine at all. He never seems to 
think like this, ‘If I can’t have better things, I’ll 
put up with what I have.’ It’s not that way at 
all. Ho, he is just simply good, and enjoys his 
life sincerely and truly ; and his joyousness is a 
much better thing for a poor old mother than 
any mere gratitude would be.” 

“Why, Else! who would have thought you 
had so much eloquence in you!” said Lena. “I 
begin to be quite interested in this new friend of 
yours. What may his name happen to be?” 

“Werner Schlitzing. A nice name, isn’t it. 
But what is the matter with you? Why, you 
are as pale as death!” 

“Yes; I have just had a sharp spasm of head- 
ache — migraine. You know I suffer with it 
frequently. But I’m so delighted with what you 
tell me, dear ; so much interested in your narra- 
tive! Do go on!” 

Lena’s pallor was something frightful to see. 
She spoke hurriedly, and with painful excite- 
ment. 

“What do you mean by saying, ‘Do go on ’?” 
asked Else, in a kind of startled way. 


138 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“Why, you’re going to tell me how it is with 
both of you, surely. He loves you?” 

The blood shot into Else’s cheeks. “I don’t 
believe he does ; something at the bottom of my 
heart tells me he does not.” 

“But you love him?” asked Lena, with a sort 
of violent, almost unscrupulous, pressure in her 
tones. 

“Oh, Lena! how can you possibly — ” Else 
suddenly burst into tears, and threw herself into 
her friend’s arms. 

For a moment Lena was quite stiff and motion- 
less. Then a sort of convulsion seemed to go 
through her whole frame; and she pressed the 
weeping girl close to her breast, with something 
of maternal intensity, and tried to comfort her 
with encouraging words and the tenderest of 
caresses ; while poor Else sobbed out : “ It is such 
a shame, such a terrible shame, to love a man 
before one knows — before one knows quite, quite 
for certain that he loves you!” 

Lena shook her head. “Ho, dear!” she said, 
“no, it’s no shame; it’s never a shame to love 
a fellow creature purely and with one’s whole 
heart, whether he return the feeling or not. But 
it would be a shame, it is a shame, to run after 
him, to try to cling to him, whether he wants it 
or not; to complain and cry over the unsatisfied 
thirst of one’s heart. That sort of thing is 
shameful, disgraceful! But to love a person 
simply and hopelessly, that is no shame, only a 
misfortune! Besides, I can’t think you have 
anything of the sort to fear. He is quite sure 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


139 


to become fond of you. How could it be other- 
wise, you sweet, bewitching thing? He is only 
holding himself in because you are rich and he 
is poor.” 

“Ho, no, no! I know better!” murmured 
Else, dashing the tears from her eyes with both 
hands. “ He likes me well enough, in his way. 
He often looks at me with a strange intensity, 
he always smiles at me, when he meets me, in 
the sweetest, kindest way. But whenever, he 
begins to talk to me his glances go in every di- 
rection ; he has nothing to say to me whatever. 
And I know this well enough, I never could fill 
his life. All I could do would be to love him 
inexpressibly. But that would not be enough.” 

“Hot enough! for a creature like you?” 
Lena’s eyes gleamed almost with angry bitter- 
ness. “It’s more than enough, and he would 
be a very stupid person not to see it. Mark 
what I say, within eight days you and he will 
be engaged!” 

All of a sudden a great stillness and quiet 
seemed to come over the room. Out of doors 
was heard the rustling of old Rhine — a cool, 
grave, majestic sound. 

Else nestled up to her friend. “How, tell me 
all about your fairy-tale,” she said. 

“My fairy-tale?” asked Lena, in a harsh 
voice. 4 4 What fairy* tale ? ’ ’ 

“Oh! that one which Hope told you.” 

“That ! I have quite forgotten what it was,” 
replied Lena. “It was nothing but silly, mean- 
ingless chatter. But there’s another I can tell 


140 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


you of. Once upon a time there was a princess, 
whom they took into a wonderful garden, where 
the trees were all full of the juiciest fruits, and 
the bushes of the most delightful flowers. But 
she was not permitted to do more than look at 
the fruits and flowers ; whenever she put out her 
hand and touched one, it crumbled away at once 
into evil-smelling dust. Then, one day, she 
was thirsty, and — ” 

The door was opened at this moment. The 
old waiting-woman of Countess Haidenheim 
stepped in. “Her ladyship requests your pres- 
ence ; the coffee is ready. ’ ’ 

Lena gave her friend a quick, breathless sort 
of kiss, and then left the room with her. 

****** ** 

The old countess and the two young people 
had finished their coffee, and the afternoon was 
now far advanced. The shadows of the poplar 
tree seemed of endless length as they lay on the 
disorderly grass growing in the spacious court- 
yard. 

The carriage stopped at the door. Mdlle. 
Fuhrwesen had come to fetch her young charge. 

Else gave her friend many warm kisses, and 
then got into the carriage. Lena was standing 
in the recess at the door, where she had taken 
leave of Werner ten days earlier. 

All of a sudden a cold shiver ran through her 
frame, and, immediately afterward, her face 
flushed to a deep scarlet, such as Else had never 
seen there. 

“Heavens, Lena! what is the matter with 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


141 


you? You surely have a fever; you’re ill!” 
cried Else. Before Lena could reply, the horses 
had started. Else drove away into the moist, 
blooming landscape of the Taunus country, and 
Lena returned into the cold, mouldy-smelling air 
of that fateful house, the atmosphere which her 
life seemed condemned to breathe. She went up 
to her room. She threw herself with her face 
downward on the bed, and dug her hands deep 
into the pillows. 

Why, oh, why had he forced her to live, see- 
ing that he did not care to do anything to put 
a little sunshine into her life? she asked herself. 

Then a very passion of anger seized and shook 
the girl. She hated, she despised him. But 
this passed away almost as soon as it came. She 
shrugged her shoulders, and asked herself why 
she should be angry? Only, forsooth, because 
he had not been such a fool as to ruin his whole 
career out of compassion for a poor creature, 
whose life he had saved by the merest accident, 
and who had for a few moments gazed up at 
him in an enthusiasm of grateful admiration 
when she was drenched with water. How 
could she ever have imagined such absurdity 
for a single moment? She was amazed at her 
own folly! And yet — yet, the Hope was dead; 
but the Dream, the dangerous, seductive Dream, 
still thrilled through her soul. 

Ah! if only, only it had been possible! To 
her wretched fancy it seemed as though a door 
had been opened in her House of Misery. Then 
he came in — he, or some one whose features 


142 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


were the same as his ; one invested with every 
gift, power, charm of mind and heart her utmost 
imagination could think of. He bent down to 
her, and whispered : “Thy time of torture is past 
and done with. Come, come!” Then he lifted 
her out of the pit, the pit of desolation where her 
life was spent, and raised her up into the sun- 
shine. 

Oh! how she would have loved him for it! 
how she would have loved him! Never had 
girl so loved man, as she would have loved him ! 
And she would have made him happy, as none 
other could — none, none ! 

A shiver of sudden rapture shot through her 
frame ; for a moment only ; then it was over. 

Out of doors there was the never-ceasing sound 
of the Rhine ; close to her the monotonous mur- 
mur of the prayers, praises of God, deemed the 
more acceptable to Him because accompanied 
by constant injury and insult to a creature He 
had created. A few hours ago she was rich in- 
deed; now there was no beggar so poor as she. 
The Hope was dead. And now the fitful light 
of the Dream too had faded away. No Light, 
no Joy, no Outlook! None, none, none! Dark- 
ness, cold, stiffening cruelty and hardness sur- 
rounding her everywhere ! Her whole existence 
nothing but a grave, in which she was not even 
permitted the consolations of Death. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


143 


CHAPTER XII. 

When Werner, with his mother, arrived at 
the party of the model-countess, the only guests 
that had come were an old Mme. Xorbin and 
two Austrian ladies, a mother and daughter, 
from Croatia; the Countesses Iwantschitsch, 
new acquaintances, which, for some reason or 
other — nobody exactly knew what — Countess 
Malva seemed very proud to have formed. 

The elder of these ladies must have been very 
pretty at one time, and, as the story went, very 
rich too. She wore very large, but false, bril- 
liants, with a nonchalance which proved that 
she must have been in the habit of wearing real 
ones for a long time. And she was full of those 
airs and graces, when talking with men, which 
ladies of advanced years never indulge in unless 
they have been taught to believe, from their 
earliest years, that every glance of theirs is a 
special favor. She was slightly rouged, heavily 
powdered, and had her hair dressed Greek fash- 
ion. She wore her sleeves quite short, and had 
very round, smooth, white arms. Her voice was 
deep, and when she talked the voice seemed to 
be almost singing, so strong were its inflections. 
For the rest, the general impression she produced 
on the North German folks was very agreeable; 
she seemed so warm-hearted and natural, nat- 
ural even to brusqueness. 

The daughter was the image of the mother, 


144 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


about twenty years younger, but slow and lan- 
guorous instead of lively and brusque. 

Both ladies were in full evening dress, con- 
trary to Schlangenbad usage; both decolletees, 
the mother’s dress coming to a point, or, as it 
is called, heart-shaped; the daughter’s quad- 
rangular. And both had some arrangement of 
lace, which wobbled about a good deal, about 
their extremely developed busts. 

Both of these ladies had a great deal of scent 
about them. Every Austrian would have seen 
at once that the case was one of very overacted 
aristocratic pretensions, suggestive of the ad- 
venturess. 

The model-countess was not endowed with the 
requisite perception, nor had she had the amount 
of social experience, which would enable any one 
to class these personages correctly. A more 
practiced eye would have set them down at once 
as belonging to the order known in social Europe 
as “traveling countesses by profession,*” and 
which now might, perhaps, better be called, 
briefly, “railroad countesses.” 

The mother seemed an unpretending creature 
enough, and appeared to be astonished herself at 
the fuss people made with her. The daughter 
was one of those girls who can be said properly 
only to exist when they are in contact with some 
man or other. 

Countess Iwantschitsch held out her hand to 
W erner, when he was presented to her, in the 
most amiable manner ; one of the prettiest hands 
it was he had ever held in his. He just touched 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


145 


it with his lips, in knightly fashion, and then, 
according to his shy custom, withdrew into a 
corner, where he sat quite quietly, adding greatly 
to the decorative beauty of the room, and study- 
ing the people about him with his large, serious 
eyes. His conclusions, however, he always kept 
to himself. 

But we are bound to say that those conclusions 
were, generally, at this time of his life, quite 
mistaken, lying far apart from the realities of 
life. He had no standard to try people by except 
that one of idealism and romance with which 
his character was saturated. Women, indeed, 
he could not see at all, except in that very mis- 
leading light. Poor boy ! 

Countess Iwantschitsch began, directly on be- 
ing introduced to Werner’s mother, to lavish the 
most kindly and amiable marks of attention 
upon her ; a kind of flattery to which the old 
lady’s susceptibilities were very open. And what 
especially gratified the mother was that the 
countess put her glass to her eye, and looked 
over Werner long and carefully, and then said, 
in a quite audible whisper : “So that’s your son? 
I congratulate you indeed — have rarely seen such 
a handsome creature!” 

Werner, poor fellow, turned his head in an- 
other direction, and withdrew even deeper into 
the shadow of his corner. As he did so, he 
noticed that the eyes of the younger Countess 
Iwantschitsch also were turned in his direction ; 
very big blue eyes they were, with an unusual 
amount of eyelid. 


146 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


These eyes seemed, to W erner, to have a great 
deal of poetical enthusiasm lurking in them. 
They rather reminded him of Beatrice Cenci’s 
eyes. 

At the outset the conversation, on this occa- 
sion, seemed to turn upon the question whether 
a little Prince Uxow, who had been unwell the 
night before, had upset his stomach with mush- 
rooms, or a particular kind of Russian butter- 
cake. After dealing with this subject, the talk 
dragged a little. 

Then there was heard outside the room the 
rustling of a silk dress, with a good deal more 
rustle than a dress usually has, and which in- 
duced expectations. 

The footman opened the door. And the whole 
room seemed, all of a sudden, as though it had 
had its former air replaced by a fresh, vigorous, 
biting, quite different atmosphere. A very tali 
old lady came in, tall and with a proud, excep- 
tionally erect bearing ; with eyes still beautiful, 
but sharp and searching to a degree; with a 
mouth quite beautifully shaped, round which 
there lurked all the time a smile compounded 
equally of mockery and kindness. A very re- 
markable old lady indeed ! This was the Count- 
ess Anna Lenzdorff. 

“I’ve brought somebody with me for you!” 
she cried. “Guess who it is !” 

“A gentleman, it’s to be hoped?” lisped the 
model- countess, to whom, however, the point 
was really one of supreme indifference. She had 
never been in the habit of running after men. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


147 


The two Croatian ladies, to whom such a point 
was very far, indeed, from being a matter of in- 
difference, laughed at her remark. 

“Yes, a gentleman! But don’t anyone of 
you run away with the idea that you’re going to 
have another worshiper. Nobody gets any of 
his worship except myself. You’ll all have to 
go with empty stomachs, positively you will!” 
cried the countess, in high amusement. She 
stood at the door while saying all this, with her 
hand upon the door-knob. “Guess who it is!” 

“How can we guess?” lisped the model-count- 
ess. 

“Cardinal, you come in!” cried Countess 
Lenzdorff, with a merry laugh. 

Then there stepped in a very handsome, but 
extremely aged man, with a long white, very 
full beard, but without a hair on his head. 

“Count Retz!” cried the model-countess. “I 
am enchanted, indeed!” 

The count — nicknamed Cardinal, no doubt, 
because of the historical reminiscences conjured 
up by his name; but, some say, because of his 
having on one occasion taken the part of a Prince 
of the Church in some charade or other, though 
there never was any one with less of the priest 
about him — the count bowed laughingly, and 
made some jesting observation. And the ex- 
citement caused by the advent of the pair pres- 
ently subsided. 

Old Mme. Schlitzing had been a friend of 
Countess Lenzdorff from her earliest years, and 
hastened to present her children to her. 


148 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


Countess Lenzdorff said something polite to 
Mathilda, but greeted Werner just as an old ac- 
quaintance, with all the heartiness and freedom 
old ladies of her straightforward, open character 
are wont to use with young men who much 
please them. 

“Your son and I have been friends for a long 
while, Rose, ’ ’ she said, holding out her hand to 
the young man. “He’s a frightfully handsome 
fellow, but a great favorite of mine. He has 
ideals of his own, and that does a young man 
much credit in these material days. Besides, 
he’s a cousin of an old favorite cf mine, Goswyn 
Sydow. But tell me, Schlitzing, how are you 
getting on? What about the journey to Italy?” 

Werner became rather red, and made no reply. 
His mother answered for him. “He has, for 
the present, postponed it a little to play the part 
of a good Samaritan with me.” 

“Really, that’s quite nice of him!” She gave 
the young officer a look of roguish good humor. 
“And hasn’t he any other little affair in hand 
for off moments?” she asked. 

He smiled in an awkward, defensive way. 

The old lady observed that he was a little em- 
barrassed by the attention she was paying him, 
so she turned to his mother and asked : 

“Isn’t he somewhat marked in the attentions 
he’s paying to little Ried? Something of the 
sort has reached my ear. By the way, I expected 
to meet the little thing here. She rather gave me 
to understand so, Malva.” 

“She promised me that she would come,” said 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


149 


the model-countess, “only she said it would be 
rather late before she could, as she had to drive 
out to Eltville.” 

“To Eltville? What takes her to Eltville, the 
little witch?” asked Countess Lenzdorff, taking 
a cup of tea from the salver presented to her by 
the foolman. 

“She had to visit some acquaintance — a 
Countess Haidenlieim, I fancy,” replied the 
model- countess. As she said this, she blinked 
with her two unequal eyes, as if she had a diffi- 
culty in recalling all the circumstances connected 
with what they were talking about. 

“Ida Haidenheim — she who was Lady-Super- 
intendent at the Court of the Duchess of Scham- 
berg-Mechingen, years ago?” asked Countess 
Lenzdorff, nibbling a biscuit. 

4 4 An exceedingly estimable old lady, ’ ’ inter- 
posed Count Retz, “but a singular acquaintance 
for a young girl. I knew her very well twenty 
years ago. I used to keep out of her way as 
much as I could; she always produced on me the 
effect of a shower of cold rain. I wonder very 
much what effect she produces upon people now?” 

4 4 Oh, she’s a perfect North Pole, ice-bound, 
freezing, where nothing whatever can grow and 
flourish!” cried Countess Lenzdorff, “and small 
blame to her, considering the ghastly misfort- 
unes that have befallen her. She is quite in- 
supportable, though; there’s no denying that.” 

Werner managed to bring out something at 
this point. “Countess Haidenheim has a grand- 
daughter living with her,” said he, “with whom 


150 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


Mademoiselle Else is exceedingly intimate ; they 
were educated at the same boarding-school.” 

‘ ‘ The granddaughter — the granddaughter ! ’ ’ 
cried Countess Malva. “That granddaughter 
is never spoken of, my dear Werner !” 

“And why is she never spoken of?” asked 
Count Retz. 

“There’s a rather uncomfortable story con- 
nected with her, I rather fancy,” said Countess 
Warsberg. “If I’m not mistaken, she is — But, 
if I don’t take care, I shall say something indis- 
creet!” 

“Oh, no! you are not in the least mistaken. It 
is the fact that the granddaughter is the natural 
child of Ida Haidenheim’s only daughter,” said 
Countess Lenzdorff, in an easy, careless way. 

“For Heaven’s sake, do think of what you 
say; there are young girls here!” 

“Oh! my daughter is not a mincing young 
thing,” Countess Iwantschitsch hastened to say. 
“A little thing like that won’t upset her. Still, 
if the child is in the way — Ilka, dear, go out 
on the balcony!” 

This was said quite energetically, and Ilka 
immediately obeyed. As she left the room, she 
looked round for Werner. He either did not 
understand, or was too deeply interested in the 
disclosures that seemed imminent, to pay any 
attention to the invitation her glances conveyed. 
The only person who followed Ilka out to the 
balcony was Mathilda. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


151 


CHAPTER XIII. 

“And now, countess, pray, your story?” said 
the elder Iwantschitsch. “There’s nothing in 
the world I’m fonder of than a little bit of scan- 
dal.” 

“Oh, there’s nothing to amuse anybody in 
this particular scandal, ’ ’ replied Countess Lenz- 
dorff; “especially for us, who were witnesses of 
the tragedy — for tragedy it was — and who knew 
the heroine of it well and intimately.” 

“Really? Knew her intimately?” cried 
Countess Iwantschitsch. “Then the lady in 
question was in Berlin society — the highest 
society, was she?” 

“ You heard, just now, that she was the daugh- 
ter of a lady-superintendent at one of the Ger- 
man courts,” said Countess Lenzdorff. 

“Ah! that escaped me.” 

“She was one of my most intimate friends,” 
said Mme. Korbin, here, in her small, refined 
voice. “Although it is impossible for me to 
do otherwise than blame her for the course she 
took, involving ruin to her life as it did, I never 
was able to discard her altogether from my affec- 
tions. She was an exalted creature.” 

“She was a goose,” said Countess Lenzdorff, 
shortly and sharpty ; then she added, in milder 
tones, “but she was a goose very much to be 
pitied.” 

“And what sort of man was it who led her 
into all that trouble?” asked the Cardinal. 


152 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“He was the sort of man whom neither of 
you” — here Countess Lenzdorff looked from the 
old count to Werner, and from Werner to the 
old count — “whom it would never have occurred 
to either of you to be jealous of. He was a Rus- 
sian, a refugee, a teacher of languages. He 
made Julia’s acquaintance owing to his being 
engaged to give her lessons in Russian. He 
certainly was no dowry-hunter. When he ran 
away with Julia she had not a penny in her 
pocket; and, being himself married, he could 
obviously not have speculated upon the family 
paying him well for marrying and making an 
honest woman of her. His disinterestedness did 
not then, or ever, admit of a shadow of a doubt.” 

“That’s rare indeed, I must say!” observed 
Countess Iwantschitsch. 

“Well, as there was absolutely no self-seeking 
motive in the transaction, it is plain that he was 
not altogether an unworthy person,” said Wer- 
ner, shyly; “he must have been an exceptional 
being.” 

“Oh, dear me! unfortunately not. His kind 
is only too numerously represented!” sighed 
Countess Lenzdorff. “In my view he was a 
donkey, but a donkey who was so profoundly 
unfortunate as to think himself somebody. And, 
what was still more unfortunate, the people about 
him did their best to fortify him in that opinion. 
He was a Nihilist, or Socialist, or what not, and 
was the inventor of a new system— a radically 
fresh system — of truth which required that all 
the rules and conventions of society, moral and 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


153 


other, should be entirely rooted up. Just at 
that time there was a positive epidemic of such 
new truths and systems. His whole soul was 
possessed with the conviction of the truth of this 
new system of his. He was the kind of fanatic, 
in fact, who never has a moment’s doubt of the 
soundness of his views, because, having got one 
idea into his narrow little brain, there isn’t room 
for another to compare it with.” 

“Why, did you know him personally, Anna?” 
asked Mme. Horbin. 

“Yes, indeed!” replied Countess Lenzdorff. 
“I went to see Julia, in Paris. Of course, it 
was Paris where they had taken refuge.” 

“You went to see her?” cried the model* count- 
ess, half laughing and half horrified. 

‘ ‘ Certainly !” replied Countess Lenzdorff, with 
perfect equanimit}'. “I went to see her several 
times. Oh, Heaven be good to us ! what misery 
and poverty they lived in ! Their lodging was 
in some quite remote quarter — Boulevard de 
l’Enfer, I think — where all the Russians live 
who have no money ; those who expect to aston- 
ish the world with their artistic performances, 
and those who mean to turn it upside down with 
fine speeches and dynamite; both of which sets 
never come to anything. A whole colony of 
spoiled lives was about them there — the halt, the 
lame and the blind, in a spiritual sense. Before 
her great misfortune I was far from being fond 
of Julia, but after that I confess that I could not 
help being interested in her wretched lot. It 
was the other way with most other people. They 


154 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


used to rave about her before, and cut her dead 
afterward. Heavens! when I remember that 
she used to make rain and sunshine, as she chose, 
in the most refined and intellectual circles of 
our capital. They used to declare that she had 
genius, that nobody could come up to her. The 
Lord be merciful to us!” 

44 Well, what sort of person was she really?” 
asked Countess Iwantschitsch, who seemed de- 
termined that the whole story should be looked 
at from a more or less humorous point of view, 
if possible. 

Countess Lenzdorff shrugged her shoulders. 

4 4 What sort of person? Well, she was a crank, 
that’s what she was, or not far short of it. She 
wore her hair tightly and smoothly combed be- 
hind her ears, and cut short behind. She raved 
about Shelley and Mary Wolstonecraft. She 
hadn’t a particle of religion, but believed in all 
sorts of wonderful, impossible things. For ex- 
ample, she held that, in regard to the moralities 
and immoralities, men and women were under 
the same responsibility ; which really meant that 
neither of the sexes was under any at all, I think. 
Then she believed that all the various sorts of 
disorders growing out of civilized society could 
be healed by allowing all our instincts entirely 
free play ; which, in my view, is pretty much as 
if you should set about draining a marsh by 
flooding it with water. She believed that free 
love would entirely regenerate the human race ; 
that society could only be organized aright by a 
preliminary process of disorganization; that uni- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


155 


versal wealth would be produced if you would 
but begin by making beggars of everybody. She 
believed in the millennium. And she used to 
talk of all these absurdities with such a fine, con - 
fused eloquence, wrap them up in such a rose- 
colored fog, that most people thought her chatter 
fabulously intellectual and poetical. People tore 
themselves in pieces to get at her. Originality, 
at any price, was the fashion just then. It was 
a positive disgrace to have any healthy common 
sense of your own, quite ordinary, quite vulgar! 
She used to make me shockingly nervous when 
I was in her company ; like a crazy person does, 
a really mad person, who is invited out in soci- 
ety, though everybody knows he’s cranky, be- 
cause he’s not yet quite ripe for the madhouse. 
And she, poor soul, was a good deal riper for the 
madhouse than anywhere else. Her story proves 
it. And, after the crash came, I felt as if I 
owed something to the poor creature, because 
I had always been taking exception to her while 
I never fully believed in her sanity. But that’s 
the way with us; we’re always taking some 
lunatic for no more than an undisciplined or 
affected person, until he does some terrible thing 
to himself or other people, something which no 
sane person would ever think of doing. ’ ’ 

“And how did her family deal with this inter- 
esting Julia?” asked Count Retz, dryly. 

Countess Lenzdorff drew a deep breath. 
“When any one steps in a puddle,” said she, 
“it’s the people who are nearest that get splashed 
with the mud ; and if they make some outcry, in 


156 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


consequence, one must not be surprised. There 
was no one so stern in her condemnation of Julia 
as her own mother. But, for all that, she gave 
her daughter to understand that she would draw 
a veil over the shame and disgrace the girl had 
brought on all her connections, if she would give 
up her lover and return to her mother’s roof. 
But Julia’s own set, the wretched sesthetic co- 
terie of which Julia had been the central figure, 
spoke very indulgently about the affair, their 
view being that a really great passion was a 
thing of rare occurrence, and that its very rarity 
made it excusable. So the set decided; as a 
set, however ; for, as far as each individual mem- 
ber of it was concerned, the result was that, in 
spite of these very sympathetic views, not a soul 
of them would have anything further to do with 
her.” 

4 4 Hm ! And you were courageous enough to 
bid defiance to these prejudices, and find out 
where poor Julia was, and go and see her?” 
asked Count Retz. 

“Courageous enough!” Countess Lenzdorft 
gave a shrug of her powerful shoulders. “There 
was very little courage in the matter. The fact 
is, I have all my life been on such a particularly 
good footing with the beast they call Prejudice, 
that I was quite sure people would forgive my 
taking the bit in my teeth on this occasion, as I 
had so often done before. Accordingly, I went 
to hunt up poor Julia, in her sixth story on the 
Boulevard de l’Enfer; it was curiosity took me 
there, perhaps, as much as compassion. In what 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


15 ? 


state did I find her? You want to know? Well, 
in the state unhappy creatures who have done 
anything like she has usually are in. She was 
wretchedly poor, and proud, even to defiance, of 
what she had done. She had it principally at 
heart to convince me of one thing, that she did 
not for one instant doubt, never had doubted, 
her perfect right to take the course she had done 
in life. Eccentric, grotesque she was ; anything 
you please. But all I can say is, that I couldn’t 
help respecting the unhappy creature, more or 
less. It’s a great deal more difficult to keep a 
firm footing and stand still on a dangerously in- 
clined path, than it is to keep going on when 
you’re on level ground. And I really must say 
that she had force of character enough to achieve 
perfectly the first of these two things. There 
she stood, like Emperor Max on that ledge of 
the St. Martin’s mountain, a sheer wall above 
her, an abyss at her feet ; yet she held her foot- 
ing with unshaken courage. Of course, she and 
her Russian were living together ; she called him 
her husband, and did everything for him that a 
common servant might do. She always wore 
her hair very short, which was not so becoming 
to her as it had been earlier, as it had become 
quite gray. And she still despised and would 
have nothing to do with a corset, and looked 
barely respectable now, in consequence. She 
was dressed in miserably poor clothes, and her 
hands were quite spoiled by rough work ; but, in 
spite of it all, there was a touch of condescen- 
sion in her bearing toward me — in fact, she 


158 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS 


created me and my views of life as if they were 
made up of something which she had long en- 
tirely outgrown, but which courtesy forbade her 
to attack, whatever opening the conversation 
might give for doing so. She was still very 
clean in her person, but everything about her 
was incredibly dirty and messy. Her lodging 
consisted of two tiny rooms, though I saw only 
one of them. The roof nearly came down to your 
head, there was no carpet, but there was a wall- 
paper with blue and brown arabesques and all 
sorts of horrible designs grinning out of it. That 
wall-paper would have been enough to make me 
wretched all the time, if I had had to live in the 
place. Not the least sign was there anywhere of 
an attempt to give a pretty and cheering look to 
things. That room told you quite plainly its 
story, that its tenant was a miserable creature 
to whom no place was anything but a sort of 
prison, and who deliberately cultivated insensi- 
bility, if one may so speak, to lessen her tortures. 
There was hardly any furniture at all, only a few 
chairs and one table and a small iron stove, with 
a pipe that went winding about here and there 
in a wonderful fashion before it left the room. 
That stove looked like some hideous monster, 
and there was something cooking on it which 
smelled horribly of cabbage. The air was thick 
with tobacco- smoke. Julia offered me a cigar- 
ette directly she saw me, and when I refused, 
asked me if^ I minded her smoking; it was the 
only thing, she said, she really could not do 
without. She smoked without cessation, mak- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


159 


ing the cigarettes herself as she went along. She 
coughed a good deal, and assured me that she 
was quite happy. Bassistow — she always re- 
ferred to her Russian as Bassistow — was a man, 
according to her, of extraordinary attainments 
and commanding genius, whose society was 
quite sufficient to indemnify her for all she had 
given up. Besides, she had plenty of society to 
prevent her from stagnating. She assured me 
that Bassistow was held in the highest esteem by 
all his compatriots; indeed, might be said to 
stand at the head of the Russian colony. And 
it was quite extraordinary what a number of 
people had already given in their adhesion to the 
new doctrine and associated themselves together 
on its basis. Bassistow was hard at work upon 
a book which could not fail, in any event, to do 
much in changing the opinions and actions of 
mankind. Meantime, her principal occupation 
was the preparation of little articles for a journal 
of the fashions, the materials for which she got 
on the street, and from the displays in the shop 
windows. She made merry over this remarka- 
bly uninteresting work of hers, and, as she did 
so, gave a significant and ironical look at the 
rags she had on herself. However — well — yes, 
to be sure ! Poor soul, she found it difficult to 
go on with her melancholy apologies for it all ; 
bu t I saw clearly enough that she was wearing 
he: self to death in trying to support them all, so 
that Bassistow’s mind might be quite free to 
prepare his catechism of socialism. While we 
were in the middle of our talk, in he came, a 


160 CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 

man of middle height, with shoulders somewhat 
rounded, carelessly dressed in a shabby, loose, 
dark gray sort of cloth jacket, which looked like 
a dressing-gown cut in half, and with slippers 
down at heel. He had a big head, or, at all 
events, one which gave you an impression of 
bigness, owing to the size of his beard and the 
blonde hair which came streaming down to the 
man’s shoulders. The face was rather good- 
looking, in spite of the rather thick nose, and it 
was only the eyes which told of the fanatic, with 
their fixed, intolerant and yet bitterly anxious 
expression. His face darkened when he saw me, 
and took on a look of almost angry distrust. He 
made a sort of movement with his head and 
shoulders, and, as he did so, his matted hair fell 
over his forehead. It was meant for a bow, I 
believe, but he withdrew just as quickly as he 
had come in, without addressing a single word 
to me. I felt a tightness at my throat. The 
man. I was sure, was quite sincere, absolutely 
sincere, in his fanaticism ; so was the woman, 
and that was the worst misery of it all. After 
that sudden incursion of her husband, she took 
occasion, again, to assure me, at some length, 
how happy and contented she was. And then a 
noise was heard at their outer door, and the 
sweet twittering of a child’s small voice. I 
looked at Julia, and she was as red as fire. 
She hadn’t said one word about a child, not 
one. I really don’t know why it should have 
been more difficult for her to speak about that 
than anything else. She seemed quite to shrink 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


161 


into herself, and tried to say something, when 
in came the child, with some woman*, a neigh- 
bor of theirs, who had been taking it out for a 
walk, and who, it appeared soon, formed part of 
that animated social circle of Julia’s, and whom 
Bassistow had converted to the new doctrines. 
This person had formerly been a teacher, and 
was now in partnership with a painter, one of 
those painters who have any amount of opinions 
and no amount of success. She believed in his 
genius, and fomented his absurdities. She looked 
as if her dress had been made out of old window- 
curtains, and as if she hadn’t eaten meat for a 
month. The child, a little girl about seven years 
old, soon occupied my attention to the exclusion 
of the other two. She had all the beauty of the 
Haidenheims, of which her mother, strange to 
say, had not been allowed her fair share by 
Providence; and, in the child’s case, as might 
be expected, the beauty was flavored with some- 
thing foreign, un-German, which showed itself 
in all her movements, and was made more no- 
ticeable, intentionally, I think, by her curious 
dress. She came, with her fresh young face, 
into the miserable room, like a misplaced flower; 
and, what was remarkable, Julia, who had never 
at any time exhibited the slightest vanity about 
her own person, took pains that were really quite 
pathetic about the little one’s person and dress. 
All that she had on was cheap stuff enough, but 
put together so picturesquely ! There was some- 
thing quite uncanny in the eyes of the poor little 
soul. They were really the Russian eyes— green 


162 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


we must call them — of her father ; but they had 
a penetrating clearness and limpidity about them 
which showed that, in due time, the chimerical 
absurdities of her parents would retreat from be- 
fore them in a sort of terror. With the coming 
of the child upon the scene, all Julia’s artificial 
fabric of self-possession and complacency fell 
to pieces at once. She looked as if she were 
stretched on the rack, and I left her as soon as 
I decently could. 

“Well, I don’t think lever felt more wretched 
in my whole life than I did in those ensuing 
days. I wrote at once to the old Haidenheim 
woman, telling her everything about Julia, and 
particularly about the child, of whose existence 
the old woman was quite ignorant. The count- 
ess sent me an answer which was almost eva- 
sive. If I could prevail upon Julia, so far as to 
make her see the horrible delusions she was liv- 
ing under and give up Bassistow, she was quite 
prepared at any time to receive her daughter and 
the child under her roof. The letter was hard, 
but not without a certain nobleness in its tone. 

“I went to Julia and told her of its contents, 
without giving it her to read. I conjured her 
to return to her mother. She eyed me over con- 
temptuously from head to foot, and said: ‘My 
duty is here ; I must not abandon my post. It 
is easy for me to do it, for I am convinced of the 
soundness of the new doctrine. The strong are 
here to furnish an example to the weak. The 
first adherents of every new faith must go to 
ruin; it is their destiny. To try and take hold 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


163 


of the routine of things, as the world has settled 
it, is much as if a single person should try to 
stop a large steam-engine by seizing the fly- 
wheel. Yes, it is true, the individual goes to 
ruin, but his fate necessarily attracts the atten- 
tion of his fellow -creatures, the masses are influ- 
enced by the example, and, little by little, gen- 
eral movement sets in. I am a fellow-laborer in 
the liberation of humanity. ’ That is what she 
said. And I should very much like to know 
what reply can be made to that sort of thing? 
My head went round and round, 1 as she talked, 
and I declare that when we had done I was not 
quite sure which was the crazy one of the two, 
she or I,. 

“After this I put off going to her, and had 
not seen her for some little time, when I received 
a letter from her. Merciful God! what a letter 
it was! — only a few lines: ‘Dear Anna — I am 
very miserable. I am dying. I regret nothing, 
nothing for myself. But the child ! The child is 
different from me ; she does not feel happy — quite 
the reverse, indeed — in our surroundings. I en- 
treat you take her away as soon as you can, and 
send her to my mother. I shall not know a 
moment’s peace till you have taken her away. 
After my death Bassistow might make diffi- 
culties. ’ Then there was a little more pitiable 
lamentation about the situation, and a scarcely 
legible signature. Of course, I went and fetched 
the child the same day. Julia was lying dressed 
on her bed, and, when I came in, Bassistow was 
cowering at her side with his head buried in her 


164 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


skirts. I had entered without ringing the bell. 
Their outer door was never fastened ; poor things, 
they had nothing for anybody to steal ! He did 
not hear me coming in. She placed her poor 
wasted hand upon his shaggy head, to shake 
him out of his death-like grief. This was the 
first time that I had seen them really together. 
And what a depth of tenderness and affection 
there was in the midst of all their fanatical ex- 
aggerations, with all those repulsive surround- 
ings! Hateful as were their errors, ugly as their 
surroundings, their love, at all events, was some- 
thing that challenged respect. And they did 
love one another. I saw now, for the first time, 
that when Julia assured me that she was happy, 
that was not entirely misrepresentation. Yes, 
she loved him. It passed my wit to understand 
how she possibly could, but there could be no 
doubt of the fact. As I went downstairs that 
day, with the child, I seemed rather small in my 
own eyes, and my existence seemed, compara- 
tively, a poor sort of thing. It was a long time 
before I could get over the impression of that 
sad scene, of those two together at that dreadful 
moment; the dying woman, and the man with 
his face buried in the poor, shabby dress, just 
like a child averting its face from some ghost 
that it does not dare to look at. And the ghost 
came only too soon upon the scene. Ten days 
later she was dead. The day after the funeral 
he hanged himself to a bed-post.’’ A painful 
silence followed the countess’s narrative. 

Count Retz was the first to resume the conver- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


165 


sation. “And this child, with the limpid, clear 
eyes, is the granddaughter who was referred to 
j ust now ?” he observed. 

“Yes, that is the granddaughter, whom, un- 
fortunately, people can hardly be said ever to 
refer to, ’ ’ said Countess Lenzdorff . 

“She is very charming!” Werner said, in a 
low voice, as if speaking to himself. 

“Why, do you know her?” asked Countess 
Lenzdorff. 

“Oh! I have only seen her once,” said the 
young officer, in some embarrassment. 

“Perhaps it is as well that it was only once,” 
said Countess Lenzdorff, dryly. “Lena is not a 
desirable person for young idealists to have much 
to do with. She appeals so strongly to compas* 
sion and to the imagination; and, unhappily, 
marriage with her is out of the question ; elle 
n’est pas epousable .” 

“Decidedly, it is out of the question,” said 
Countess Malva. 

“But old Madame Schlitzing said, with dry 
humor: “ Pas epousable! That is hard indeed. 
All I can say is that I heartily wish she may 
find some capital young fellow who will have 
resolution enough to marry her ; but God forbid 
it should be my Werner!” 

“I can quite understand your feeling so, Rose, ” 
said Countess Lenzdorff; “but, for all that, if a 
man could be found with the requisite courage, 
.who knows but that*—” 

At this point a cough was heard outside the 


room. 


166 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


Countess Iwantschitsch took a light lace shawl 
from her shoulders, and handing it to Werner, 
she begged him, “Dear Baron Schlitzing, would 
you be so very kind as to take this to my daugh- 
ter? The girl will catch her death of cold if I 
don’t do something. She is so romantic and im- 
prudent ! When she can get a chance of seeing 
a few stars shining over the tops of the trees in 
a wood, everything else goes out of her head. ’ ’ 

Vferner hurried out with the wrap, as was his 
knightly duty, and put it round the young girl’s 
shoulders. 

“Oh, how sweetly kind of you!” she said, 
under her breath; “really, quite too kind!” 

‘ 4 It was your mamma who sent me with it, ’ ’ 
replied Werner, the inexperienced. 

“Oh, indeed! It was mamma sent it,” mur- 
mured the young Croatian lady, with much less 
energy than before. 

“Yes, indeed, countess,” Werner hastened to 
assure her. “I should never have permitted- 
myself to come out to you of my own accord ; I 
should have been terribly afraid of intruding.” 

“Nay!” She just looked at him with her 
eyes, as wide open as they would go, and 
laughed. 

Mathilda* tried to inject a few thoughtful re- 
marks, but the Croatian girl evidently had no 
ears for them. Thilda’s sense of superiority and 
vexation came into immediate operation; the 
two sentiments were inseparable in her, poor 
thing ! and she went to the other end of the bal- 
cony, and, in a little while, back into the room. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


167 


CHAPTER XIY. 

Between Werner and Ilka Iwantschitsch 
there now ensued a quite lively conversation. 
It was unmistakable that this luxuriously formed 
girl, with the red-blonde hair and the big blue 
eyes, did, for the moment, take a more exclusive 
hold of Werner’s mobile fancy than Else had 
managed to do. She did not utter a word that 
had anything in it either intellectual or even 
amusing; their talk was all on the lowest, flat- 
test, most humiliating level. But every look 
the girl gave him had homage in it; every word 
she said had some flattery in it; yet the young 
woman had tact enough not to spoil the matter 
by any too direct compliments, which would 
have upset him altogether. She went no fur- 
ther than to insinuate in everything she said 
that she regarded him as an exalted being, 
infinitely above her own level, whom she could 
only think of as one to be always deferred to. 
And she asked his advice and suggestions as to 
this, that, and the other thing, as if she were 
consulting an oracle. Where did he think it 
most advisable for two ladies to spend the 
winter, Wiesbaden or Dresden? Werner knew 
nothing of Dresden or Wiesbaden, and suggested 
Italy as a good place to winter in — Rome or Flor- 
ence; but Ilka Iwantschitsch knew Rome, Flor- 
ence, Venice, and declared that there was nothing 
she so much longed for as to spend a whole win- 


168 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


ter in a German city, a thing she had never yet 
done. 

“Where do you intend to spend the winter?” 
she asked him at last. 

“In Berlin, countess — ” 

“Oh, how interesting! And are you going to 
remain permanently in Berlin?” 

“For some time to come, at all events, as I 
have some hope of being promoted to the general 
staff,” he replied. His voice sounded fuller and 
more rounded in his own ears than usually. He 
seemed to feel a sort of need of making as good 
an appearance as he could in the girl’s eyes. He 
had never experienced such a sense of self-im- 
portance as now, talking with this young lady. 

“Oh, dear, so you are an officer!” she cried, 
as though it were the first time in all her life 
she had seen such a personage. 

“Yes, that is so, countess.” 

“And do you love your occupation?” 

“With all my heart and soul!” 

“Oh, how fine that is! What a poor creature 
I am compared with you!” she sighed. 

And, as he made no reply to this — what reply 
could the unfortunate young man make? — she 
murmured : “We poor girls have only one occu- 
pation, one vocation, that of wife and mother.” 

“A very fine, noble vocation!” said Werner, 
in somewhat subdued tones. 

“Yes, indeed, when one can follow the dictates 
of one’s heart,” sighed the Croat. “But a poor 
girl like me! Marriage for me means nothing 
except that I must provide for myself, whatever 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


169 


it may cost me. And, up to the present mo- 
ment, I have not been able to bring myself to 
do it.” 

She sighed; her breast rose and sank. 

The stars were glimmering above the wood on 
the other side of the high read. A soft, keen 
perfume from the vigorous pine trees and the 
forest odors came up to their feet, and, mingling 
with these scents of nature, there was the sickly 
perfume which the girl had about her person, 
some sort of exaggerated fashionable scent. 
These incongruous odors were, however, in some 
strange way, harmonized, for Werner’s percep- 
tions, by the influence of, or emanations from, 
the girl’s youthful luxuriance of form and frame. 
Werner had not the least idea that his person 
and the girl’s were approaching each other, if, 
indeed, it was not rather she than he who 
abridged the distance. And, almost before he 
knew it, his shoulder came into such decided 
contact with hers that he shrank and discreetly 
withdrew a little. A little while afterward her 
hand came close together with his on the ledge 
of the balcony. And this time he did not with- 
draw his hand, which he found it very pleasant 
to leave lying by the side of the soft, warm hand 
of the young girl. 

“And nobody has ever yet succeeded in in- 
spiring me with any interest,” she groaned. 
“I’d rather peel potatoes for a man I love than 
be crowned with diadems by any one I don’t 
care for.” 

“How strangely she looks at me! ” thought 


170 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


Werner. Then, all of a sudden, the thought 
thrilled through him that there was probably 
offered him the opportunity of a little love af- 
fair without any particular responsibility or 
issue of any kind; something between a flir- 
tation and a passion, but nearer the first than 
the second. He did not feel at all sure of it; 
he had had no practice in the matter; and the 
type of women with whom such things are 
possible was not at all familiar to him. It 
had, so far, never entered into his head to pay 
any beyond the most ordinary attentions to 
any woman of his own circle, and certainly not 
t:> any girl. Besides, all his sentiments in re- 
gard to the other sex were of the exalted kind 
one attributes to knights and troubadours of 
old, romantic and high-flown. But, for all 
that, the young man did now lay his hand 
upon the hand of the handsome young Croatian 
lady, and murmur, “Oh, if any one had but 
the right — ” 

“To what?” she said, under her breath. 

Werner almost felt the place go round with 
him. 

“To console a%Ld comfort you; to have the 
privilege of putting a little happiness into your 
existence,” he said, almost in a whisper. 

She was now all but leaning against him, so 
close together had they got. 

Just at that time he heard the roil of carriage 
wheels. It was as if he had been suddenly 
struck by lightning. That could be no one but 
Else, returning from Eltville. The Croatian 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


171 


girl went utterly out of his head in an instant. 
He left her side and stretched forward to see 
who it was. The carriage stopped very near 
the door. Else and Mdlle. Fnhrwesen jumped 
out. 

“Oh, there you are, Baron Schlitzing!” cried 
Else, joyously, looking up to him. “Isn’t it 
too late? Shall I come up? May I?” 

“We shall be only too delighted,” cried Wer- 
ner. “We’ve all of us been longing for you the 
whole evening. You see that I’ve been looking 
out for you in every direction.” 

And the really extraordinary part of the mat- 
ter was that he believed what he said. 

He stepped back into the room and informed 
his aunt of little Ried’s arrival. 

“Go and fetch her,” suggested his mother. 

He obeyed. 

A few moments after he returned with Else 
and Mdlle. Fuhrwesen. Else was beaming with 
beauty, amiability, and youthful happiness. 
Everybody received her with the utmost dem- 
onstrations of delight, which she seemed to take 
quite as a matter of course, but seemed not the 
less charmingly grateful for. Werner did not 
leave her side, brought her tea and biscuits, and 
took particular pains in inquiring as to her 
further wishes, all in the most laughing, hearti- 
est, most knightly fashion. Mdlle. Fuhrwesen 
began to regale them all with an account of 
the adventures of her opera* and went to the 
piano to give them as good an idea as she could 
of the most important numbers. 


172 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


The servant announced that the carriage had 
come for Countess Iwantschitsch; whereupon 
the two Croatian ladies took their leave for 
their return journey to Schwalbach, both of 
them quite visibly depressed. 

“Which is it to bt\ Cardinal — the mother or 
the daughter?” said Countess Lenzdorff to her 
old adorer. 

Count Retz scratched himself, in humorous 
perplexity, behind his left ear. 

“If you have really nothing better to offer 
me — ” he murmured. 

Countess Lenzdorff lifted her eyebrows well 
up to her forehead, and now asked Werner: 

“Well, and you! How did the red-haired 
Croat girl please you?” 

Werner was still in much higher spirits — or 
more highly excited, whichever it was — than 
usual. He seemed to have lost for the moment 
a good deal of his native shyness. Stroking his 
mustache, he looked straight in front of him, 
and as though he could say a good deal if he 
only chose, and his scrupulous kindness did not 
stand in the way: “Oh, well, she’s not a bad 
kind of lassie. ” Yes, positively, he said “lassie,” 
a mode of referring to a girl not at all familiar 
to him. However, just now, he felt himself 
pleasantly and quite unusually excited. It was 
quite plain that his head was still going round ; 
a result in part due to his talk with the Croatian 
girl. 

But the model - countess, who seemed alto- 
gether without any sense of the situation, went 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS 


173 


on with her mincing talk and her choicest man- 
ner: “So natural they are, those two, both of 
them, mother and daughter, so delightfully 
natural! After all, there’s something quite 
peculiar about the Austrian great ladies!” 

Mademoiselle Fuhrwesen at this moment was 
not being listened to by anybody except Mathilda, 
who, most flatteringly, compared all her com- 
positions with "Wagner. Just at the moment 
when the model-countess made her last reported 
observation, the instrument was, under Mdlle. 
Fuhrwesen’s hands, enjoying the respite of a 
quite long pianissimo passage, so the performer 
heard the remark quite well. She was a little 
put out by the scanty attention her performance 
had received. Turning to the company, she 
asked sharply: “Who is that you’re talking 
about?” 

“Countess Iwantschitsch and her daughter,” 
replied Countess Warsberg. 

“They! Austrian great ladies!” cried Mdlle. 
Fuhrwesen. “Oh, they! Let me tell you that 
they don’t count in Austria at all, those Croa- 
tian women ! To say nothing of the point that 
these two, as things stand, have made them- 
selves quite impossible in Austria. Yes, that 
is the case, and it would be just the same if 
their name was Esterhazy or Schwarzenberg. ” 

“Do you know anything to the prejudice cf 
the two ladies?” asked the model-countess, turn- 
ing a little pale. 

“Well, merely this; that one fine day in Venice 
they levanted from their hotel under cover of 


174 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


the night — a foggy night — without paying their 
bill,” answered Mdlle. Fuhrwesen very coolly. 
“Besides — besides; oh, well! the less said the 
better. The ladies might very well write their 
biographies; there’s plenty of material for it, 
goodness knows!” 

Countess Malva turned so green that the 
rouge spots on her cheeks came out with a 
conspicuousness that was quite uncanny: “But, 
dear Mdlle. Fuhrwesen, one really must not be- 
lieve everything that malicious tongues choose 
to utter in such cases as these.” 

Countess Lenzdorff laughed. “Well, Malve, 
that these two ladies have lost the privilege of 
being presented at court — supposing they ever 
had it — one could see at a glance without a 
microscope. The type is quite familiar.” 

“If the ladies require further details I am 
quite at their service. But there mustn’t be 
any gentlemen present,” said Mdlle. Fuhrwesen, 
with tolerable explicitness. 

“I really can’t understand: I am quite with- 
out experience in this sort of thing,” said poor 
Countess Malva. 

“Well, children, it’s really quite late, I shall 
drive home. Shall I take you with me, Car- 
dinal?” asked Countess Anna Lenzdorff. 

The Cardinal assented with thanks. 

Very soon afterward Countess Malva’s rooms 
were quite deserted. 

Old Mme. Schlitzing had upon the whole been 
vastly entertained. And perhaps it was not 
the least among her sources of satisfaction that 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


175 


her affected and pretentious sister-at-law had 
exhibited herself in such an utterly ridiculous 
light. While she was being pushed home in 
her rolling-chair, she made Mdlle. Fuhrwesen 
walk along by her side and impart to her all 
the details concerning the damaged reputation 
of the two Croatian ladies, and all the reasons 
why they were now socially “impossible.” 

Werner had offered his arm to Else, which she 
took. Her heart beat loudly. 

He bent down to her and said: “And how 
did you find your friend at Eltville?” 

She was a little surprised and disappointed, 
and then said: “More charming than ever. 
At first she was quite open and expansive, but 
that did not last long: her life is too sad alto- 
gether. Old Countess Haidenheim won’t allow 
her the least distraction or amusement away 
from the house, and takes care she shan’t have 
the least enjoyment of her life in the house. 
Lena, it seems, is to do perpetual penance for 
what she couldn’t help at all. It gives me such 
pain to see her that I can hardly stand it.” 

Werner said nothing. He could not utter a 
word, his heart beat so wildly. 

Else \vent on: “I’m terribly fond of Lena, I 
am indeed. I very much wanted to take her 
with me for a few days to cheer her up. But 
of course the cruel old woman wouldn’t hear a 
word of any such thing. She’ll kill Lena with 
her cruelty before she’s done, I’m sure she will.” 
Else nearly wept as she said the words. 

They soon reached their hotel. Werner had 


176 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


not spoken a word since his first question. But 
now, to make up for it, he took Else’s two hands 
in his and said in his warmest tones: “You 
have won my whole heart, Mdlle. Else. God 
keep you!” and then he turned to his mother 
to assist her out of her chair and carry her up 
the stairs. 

Poor little Else ! 


CHAPTER XV. 

“Who’s that you’re talking with, my boy?” 
asked old Mme. ^chlitzing, next day. It was 
her son to whom she put the question. The 
young man was in her room, and looking out of 
the window; and he had just called out some- 
thing to somebody passing below. 

“Oh! it’s the little Ried, ” replied he, turning 
round to look at his mother. “She called up to 
me to ask whether the project of the excursion 
to Rauenthal holds good, and whether the car- 
riage is ordered for three or four o’clock.” He 
left the window, and went up to his mother. 
His bearing was a little more careless than was 
usual with the young soldier, and his hands were 
deep in the pockets of his short gray tourist- 
jacket. “She’s walking up and down below 
there with Linden in the Alley. She’s got a sky- 
blue frock on, and a large white hat. She looks 
positively charming ! I declare, she gets prettier 
every day ; and Linden is making eyes at her 
like a stuck calf ! That fellow has fallen on his 
feet, I must say. She is really charming!” 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


177 


* 4 Yes, and she’s something better than pretty; 
she is a kind, good girl — as good as gold, indeed ; 
and, though people have done their best to spoil 
her, she’s quite simple and unpretending,” said 
his mother. “I think that, under some circum- 
stances, she would be quite happy and contented 
with limited means.” 

“There’ll be no need of her having to make 
the trial,” said Schlitzing, carelessly, “Linden 
is very rich. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I should very much like to know why you 
make such a point of insisting on marrying her 
to Linden?” said his mother, evidently put out. 

“Oh! /haven’t any particular desire, one 
way or another, in the matter; but I think 
that’s a tolerably obvious and settled thing.” 

“Do you, really?” said his mother, in a curi- 
ous voice ; then she passed her eyes all ov£r her 
son’s tall form, with an odd expression in them, 
and then let them rest full upon the young man’s 
face. And an uncommonly attractive face it 
was, with a slight touch of dreaminess about the 
eyes, and with full lips overflowing with vital- 
ity. It was the face of a man abounding in 
physical health, and an idealist to the extreme. 
When these two attributes come together in a 
young fellow, it may be confidently said that 
fate has many a sly, sharp stroke of suffering in 
store for him. But, at the same time, there’s no 
denying that the combination makes its fortu- 
nate or unfortunate possessor a most attractive 
and sympathetic sample of the human family. 

He bent down a little to his mother and passed 


178 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


his hand caressingly over her gray head. 
“They’ll make a pretty pair, those two,” h@ 
went on with his gossip. “Linden is an excel- 
lent fellow; it doesn’t much matter tome, of 
course, whether he is or not, but I must say I’m 
glad of it for her sake. Whenever I see a charm- 
ing, innocent young girl throwing herself away 
on a worthless, good-for-nothing fellow, it hurts 
me more than I can say. But nobody can say 
anything like that of Linden.” 

“Hm! so you’re convinced that she’s in love 
with Linden, are you?” murmured his mother. 

That question seemed to set him thinking. He 
had never looked at the matter from that point 
of view. 

“I haven’t the least idea, but I can’t have any 
doubt but that she will marry him,” he replied, 
scratching his head slightly. 

“Very possible, indeed!” said the old lady, 
dryly; then, suddenly, her patience seemed to 
break down altogether, and she hurled in his 
face: “Oh! you stupid, stupid, stupid fellow!” 

Werner was so startled that he fell back a step 
or two ; he was incredibly slow of perception in 
certain directions. “Why, mother! do — you — 
mean — ” he stammered. 

“What I mean is that you are born under a 
lucky star, and that your old mother is more 
pleased than she can say !” 

He felt the blood come into his cheeks, not 
with a sudden blush, but, as it were, deliberately 
tickling and pricking as it came. He was not 
the sort of shy young man who blushes readily 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


179 


and frequently. It was a slow process with 
him, but when it did happen it seemed to set his 
head all on fire. And the implication in his 
mother’s words made him feel giddy too. He 
felt as if the earth were giving way under his feet. 

At that moment Countess Warsberg came into 
the room, painfully well dressed, with a very 
elegant round hat and a coquettish little open 
jacket, and informed them that little Ried, with 
her Fuhrwesen, was waiting below. 

Werner, who seemed to move like a man in a 
dream, stooped to carry his mother down the 
stairs. Everything swam before his eyes. His 
nervous system was shaken and agitated; but 
the agitation was of a painful kind, there was 
nothing agreeable about it whatever. He felt 
that he had lost his mental equilibrium for the 
moment. He had lost his firm grip of things 
entirely. 

There, below, was Else Ried, her eyes filled 
with sunshine ; and, as he came, she looked up 
to him with laughter, in the sound of which 
there was all the loving sincerity of her sweet 
nature. 

Linden was by her side, following every one 
of her movements with his eyes, over head and 
ears in love, and about as miserable as a fine 
young fellow well could be. 

They helped the poor lame old lady into the 
carriage, and then there was a big fight among 
the other ladies as to who should occupy the 
front seat. This was one of those cases in 
which the appalling politeness of the model- 


180 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


countess gave the world such trouble. However, 
Mdlle. Fuhrwesen carried the point, and the 
countess was obliged to occupy the preferential 
seat by the old lady. 

The carriage started. “To our speedy re- 
union at the Hotel Nassau, at Rauenthal!” cried 
the ladies to the four they left behind them, and 
Else laughed and waved her pocket-handker- 
chief ; then she turned to W erner and said, mer- 
rily: “Now for the donkeys !” 

It had been arranged, in fact, that the two 
girls should make a donkey-ride of it on this 
occasion, under the escort of Werner and Lin- 
den. Else was as pleased as a child at this plan, 
the gods only know why ! Perhaps her expecta- 
tion was that Schlitzing would be by her side the 
whole time, and that they would talk all sorts 
of delightful nonsense together. There seemed 
very little prospect of that, however. He lifted 
her into the saddle without saying a word, and 
with a demeanor weighted with care ; so that 
poor Else’s merry mood came to a sudden full 
stop, just like the sails of a windmill when the 
wind drops entirely. 

“Is everything all right? is there anything 
more you require, mademoiselle?” Then the 
donkey trotted off. 

A more lovely forest road than that which 
connects Schlangenbad with Rauenthal is not 
anywhere to be found; and a more painfully 
tedious hour than that which dragged its slow 
length along, as Else then rode that way, per- 
haps no human creature ever spent. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


181 


It is agreeable enough to ride a donkey to the 
accompaniment of hearty laughter and bad jokes, 
and in the midst of pleasant, merry people, with 
the beeches and hazel-bushes rustling all about 
you. But to be seated on a donkey as if the 
beast were some throne at a grave court cere- 
mony, with a young lady trotting in front of 
you more solemn than solemnity itself, who 
seems, indeed, to be the very incorporate pres- 
entation of all one’s own absurdity, with two 
young men stalking along on either side in equal 
silence and solemnity, and a couple of donkey- 
drivers dashing here and there, and conscien- 
tiously letting fly with all their various allocu- 
tions of encouragement or abuse to their beasts, 
in honest determination to give full value for 
their forty cents an hour ; all this can hardly be 
said to make up a pleasant combination. Else 
could not help wishing that she and her donkey 
together were sunk several fathoms below the 
earth. 

Schlitzing never spoke a single word ; looked 
gloomily before him, and, for the most part, 
kept by his sister’s side. Linden paced along 
patiently by Else, attempting, now and then, 
some mild little joke which stuck in his throat. 

Thilda distinguished herself by venturing on 
one remark. “How glorious the air is!” And, 
then, she spoke no more. 

It was nothing short of horrible ! It was like 
a bad dream. Else had a sort of waking night- 
mare ; she felt as though she was gro wing every 
moment bigger and bigger, stouter and stouter, 


182 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


and tons upon tons were being added to her 
weight. 

The leaves rustled about her merrily; the blue 
sky sent its light through the branches; a sweet' 
perfume hovered over everything. Else felt none 
of those things. But, when she had to leave the 
shelter of the forest, and go along a road through 
the open fields, quite unprotected from the sun, 
she suddenly did realize that something very 
sweet and lovely, which she might, under other 
circumstances, have greatly enjoyed, was past 
and gone. 

“Oh, I’ve had enough of it!” she groaned. 
“Mumu” — that was what she called her old 
friend, Edmund, sometimes — “Mumu, help me 
down — do! You won’t get me to do anything 
of this sort in a hurry again !” 

He****** * 

There are some country excursions in which 
everything goes wrong ; it rains, it thunders, it 
hails; you get wet to the skin, you spoil. your 
best clothes, the wheels of your carriage come off 
and you are pitched into a ditch. You get a 
meal consisting of highly questionable materials 
and ingredients, and then stretch yourself out 
at full length on a haycock. Fate has settled 
things for you; after all these accidents, how 
you are to get home is not clear. All these 
things may occur, and yet you may have had 
royal entertainment all through these mishaps. 
Every fresh trouble may have been the occasion 
of renewed amusement and delight. And the 
whole affair may be crowned by your having to 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


18b 


pack yourselves, the whole party, in an unsavory 
room in some tavern, to escape from the storm, 
where you may probably waltz to the music of 
some wheezy barrel-organ, and where, if you 
can get nothing better, you will make a famous 
meal of stale crusts and sour wine. You may 
catch a cold, or get rheumatism, at excursions of 
this kind; but you will never blame the occasion 
for the misfortune at all. And even after twelve 
months have passed you’ll speak of it as “that 
capital picnic when we went to such or such a 
place, and had no end of fun and rheumatism!” 
And there are other occasions when everything 
runs with exemplary smoothness. The sky is of 
a blue perfection; the foliage is perfect; you are 
all the time protected against the sun; all the 
wheels of the affair run without the slightest 
creaking; the victuals are such as no rational 
creature can take the least exception to ; blame- 
less occasions these, which, for all their faultless- 
ness, leave nothing in the memory but an insig- 
nificant spot of gray, and which you look back 
upon when you return home with a grateful 
feeling of relief that the whole thing is over. 

No one of our friends who participated in this 
jaunt to Rauenthal could ever look back at it, 
even after the lapse of a year, without feeling a 
sense of oppression, a sensation, almost, as if the 
whole cup of life’s pleasure had not a single drop 
left in it. 

And yet, if they had been required to point 
out in what, precisely, the discomfort they all 
experienced on that day had consisted, not one 


184 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


of them would have been able to do so. But 
there could be no question about that discom- 
fort; it was iiioe a wet blanket spread over the 
whole company. They ail seemed to feel as 
though they had risen three hours earlier than 
usual and gone a journey on an empty stomach. 
And yet there they were, at the Nassau Hotel, 
in Rauenthal, in a delicious little garden, under 
the shade of glorious trees, and wioa splendid 
dahlias, phlox and pansies all about them in 
such profusion as, perhaps, was nowhere else 
to be found. They had bread and butter than 
which the world affords no better; they had for 
their drink the most exquisite Rauenthaler in the 
host’s cellar, that incomparable wine in which 
Emperor William the First, when he visited the 
little town, some years ago, and Prince Bismarck 
drank to each other’s health. They were full of 
praises of the weather, of the butter, the bread, 
the wine. But every soul of them felt the time 
drag dreadfully, and as though they were listen- 
ing to an orchestra in which half the instruments 
were tuned to one pitch, and half to another. 

But of all the uncomfortable people there, 
Werner Schlitzing was certainly the most un- 
comfortable. Every now and then he stole a 
glance at Else, who looked very pale, and who 
was taking the most pathetically fruitless pains 
to look as if she were thoroughly enjoying her- 
self. Tliilda had materially contributed to the 
general cheerfulness by repeating, for the fourth 
time, that the weather was splendid, and had, 
moreover, said a good deal about Italy. Countess 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


185 


Warsberg had condescended to express her great 
satisfaction with everything, the bread, the bat- 
ter, the splendid dahlias — everything. And 
Mdlle. Fuhrwesen had regaled them with nar- 
ratives of Sondershausen and her opera. 

“Werner, I do wonder what you are doing 
with your thoughts !” at last exclaimed old Mme. 
Schlitzing, in a very discontented voice. Indeed 
it was more than discontented ; it was sharp and 
almost peremptory, as was always the case when 
things were not going right, in her estimation, 
with any of her children. 

“I! My thoughts, mother?’ ’ He just put 
his hand to his short curly hair and scratched 
his head slightly ; then he hesitated a little, as 
though he had something to say which it was 
difficult to bring out, but which must be brought 
out. He had been thinking, for the last half 
hour, how to let them know what he meditated 
doing, and he now saw his opportunity. “I, 
mother? I hope that all my kind friends here 
will forgive me, but my thoughts were wander- 
ing away, just now, in quite another direction, 
and I was simply thinking at what hour to-mor- 
row I would drive off to Eltville.” He trusted 
that he had said the words in a quite careless, 
purposeless way, and had been careful to look 
over the heads of them all when he brought them 
out, so that nobody’s eyes should meet his. 

“You are going to leave us?” exclaimed 
Countess Warsberg, much disturbed, looking at 
his mother and then to his sister, and from her 
back again to his mother. 


186 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“I had not the least idea you meditated any 
such thing,” said his mother, curtly; and then 
there followed a leaden silence. 

“Does any such thing as a red parrot happen 
to be hanging in the trees up there, or do you 
happen to see some balloon going up, Schlitzing?” 
asked Linden, with gentle malice. 

“Why?” asked Werner, brusquely. 

“Oh! only because you keep staring so over 
all our heads. I supposed you had some partic- 
ular reason for doing so,” replied Linden. In the 
bottom of his heart he was rejoicing hugely that 
Schlitzing intended to go oif, next day, to Elt- 
ville. 

“Oh! Else, my dear, how can you?” It was 
Thilda’s sour voice that uttered the words. Of 
course, everybody’s eyes were turned on the 
young girl. 

Else, whose every movement was usually so 
carefully and gracefully made, had upset a small 
cream jug. There was not much cream in it, but 
quite enough to send a small stream of greasy 
white drops all down Else’s blue cambric frock. 

“Oh, dear! pet Miezerl, how could you !” now 
echoed the Fuhrwesen, in tones of horror. It 
was really a most charming dress, and the good 
Fuhrwesen knelt down and wiped up the mess 
from it with her pocket-handkerchief. 

“Oh! don’t bother about it, dear little Fuhr- 
wesen,” said Else, with her small, soft voice. 
“How could I have been so awkward! Never 
mind, we’ll go in to the landlady, and a little 
warm water — ” 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


18 ? 


So saying, she hurried off. Werner cpuld not 
be quite sure, but it seemed to him, when she 
returned, that her eyes looked as though she had 
been crying. Anyhow, she bore herself quite 
courageously enough, in all conscience. 

It was a dreadful afternoon for them all, and 
it seemed as though it would never come to an 
end. A good many observations were made 
about that grease-spot, and the question whether 
it had been quite successfully washed and ironed 
out. Mdlle. Fuhrwesen and Thilda exchanged 
receipts of great value for removing grease-spots 
generally. Old Mme. Schlitzing was grimly 
silent. Her lips were firmly compressed, and 
her face wore an expression of great dissatisfac- 
tion. Else gossiped sweetly with one after the 
other, and smiled from time to time. She was 
deathly pale, and had dark brown streaks below 
her eyes. 

“How bravely she carries herself! A trump 
of a girl she certainly is!” said Werner to him- 
self. He could not help letting his eyes travel 
in her direction, again and again. 

They all rose, and went strolling off to see 
some fine view. Werner got himself entangled 
in a talk about gaming hells with Mdlle. Fuhr- 
wesen. It seemed to him that lie had quite sub- 
lime and deep things to say on this theme, one 
which raised a conflict in his mind between eco- 
nomical and moral considerations. He was 
speaking with eloquence quite satisfactory to 
himself, and just about to give the last point and 
finish to a particularly fine passage, when he 


188 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


heard laughter behind him, clear, silvery laugh- 
ter, which suddenly broke off into painfully 
hoarse sounds. His beautiful passage was ab- 
ruptly cut short, too; he looked round. Else 
was gossiping with Linden; her lips had the 
movement of laughter on them still; but her 
eyes ! What a dreadful look there was in her 
eyes all the while ! Linden’s form was bending 
dowrw to her with every sign of gentleness and 
heartfelt sympathy. 

“He’s a capital fellow! Why in the world 
should I trouble my head any further about it? 
She’ll be quite consoled in eight days, at fur- 
thest!” said Werner to himself. Then, all of a 
sudden, in the most secret recesses of his soul, 
there came up an obscure, gnawing feeling of vex- 
ation. He stumbled over the sharp-edged stones 
of the rough pavement, overgrown with grass. 

The old-fashioned, high- gabled houses of the 
winding street they were traversing in the little 
town seemed to him to be moving to and fro on 
their foundations. Presently they had left the 
small town behind them altogether. There was an 
odor of dust and of ripening crops all about him, 
and, spread over everything, the red light of the 
setting sun. Then his ears were assailed with 
loud outcries. It was Countess Warsberg and 
the Fuhrwesen, who were vieing with each other 
in exclamations of delight at the beautiful view. 
He was quite sure that the view must be beauti- 
ful, as everybody round him vociferated admira- 
tion so loudly ; but all he saw, for his part, was 
a big telescope, and an old superannuated soldier 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


189 


who was the keeper of the telescope, and who 
was offering the ladies wreaths of withered flow- 
ers; and, beyond these objects, a green chaos 
through which flowed something broad, full of 
light, shining now with steel-blue radiance, and 
now golden-yellow and red — the Rhine, the 
Rhine ! Then the thought suddenly darted 
through him that the Rhine flowed through 
Eltville. Eltville ! * 

When, at last, they started to go home, Else 
begged Mdlle. Fuhrwesen to ride back on the 
donkey, as she would much prefer to go in the 
carriage. Werner was a little vexed, at first, 
when he heard this, but said to himself immedi- 
ately: “Well, better so! Thank God for it!” 
He lifted Mdlle. Fuhrwesen into the saddle, and 
walked by her side through the little sleepy 
town, along the dusty open road, and, in due 
course, through the green wood. 

The sourish smell of the beech-leaves became 
more marked as the cool of the evening set in ; 
the last ray of the sun was extinguished, every- 
thing seemed to have dwindled down into gray- 
ness and soberness. And, all of a sudden, a 
voice projected itself into this neutral-colored 
world, the hard, sharp voice of the Fuhrwesen, 
singing : 

“Forth went two lusty fellows 
The first time from their home.” 

And then all the real world seemed again to totter 
on its bases about Werner; the ground under his 
feet, the green bushes, the vaulted blue sky over 
the forest trees. And the darkness came on. 


190 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


CHAPTER XVI. 

And now, at last, it was indeed all over, that 
charming excursion of theirs. Old Mme. Schlitz- 
ing is once more in her room, setting out the 
cards for a game of patience. The poor old lady 
is trying to quiet her nervous system, to do some- 
thing or other to get rid of the feeling of extreme 
vexation which she has brought back home with 
her from this trip to Rauenthal. 

In the adjoining room sits Thilda. making 
some sort of entry in her diary, some sort of ex- 
temporaneous fantasia upon the theme, “Only 
who yearning knows, knows what I suffer!” 
She had never felt so isolated in her prosaic, 
non-artistic surroundings as at this moment. She 
was very unhappy. 

Then there was a gentle knock at the old 
woman’s door. 

“Mother, are you alone?” asked Werner. 

“Yes,” she said. The old lady was quite un- 
aware whether Thilda had yet returned from 
the regulation evening walk, in which she al- 
ways went to keep company with solitude. The 
old lady’s voice sounded hard, unlike itself. She 
scarcely looked up when her son entered, and 
went on with her game of patience; her hands 
trembled, and she failed to notice the most sim- 
ple and obvious combinations. Werner went 
and stood in front of her and looked steadily 
upon the table. She went on placing the cards. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


191 


“Oh! put the nine of spades on the ten of dia- 
monds,” said he, “and the deuce of — ” 

Now, at last, the mother looked up at him, 
and with startling suddenness. Her glance was 
as sharp as her voice, almost an angry glance. 

She pushed all the cards impatiently into a 
heap, and, leaning back, said, brusquely, to him : 
“What is it you want? Have you anything 
in particular to say to me?” 

“Well, not anything in particular, perhaps, 
but you know that I like to have a quiet gossip 
alone with you, with nobody to disturb us, when 
I’m going to part from you.” 

“Part from me?” she repeated, with excite- 
ment. “Do you really mean it? Are you really 
going to leave to-morrow?” 

“Yes, mother.” 

A leaden silence followed. His mother set 
out the cards again, evidently much disturbed 
and agitated; her son pulled at his mustache 
industriously. After a little while he laid his 
large, young, soft hand on his mother’s withered 
one, and fried to take a jesting tone. “Ain’t I 
to have any of your good, clever advice to take 
on the road with me, mother?” he asked. “Am 
I to brave the perils of the journey without that 
capital supply of moral suggestions I am gen- 
erally furnished with?” 

“I have no more good advice to furnish you,” 
his mother gave him for answer — in her vexa- 
tion she could not help it — and took her hand 
sharply away from his. 

He wrinkled his brow. This sort of treatment 


102 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


was something he was quite unaccustomed to, 
and it was particularly disagreeable to him. His 
mother’s behavior seemed unjust and irrational 
to him; and being, like all warm-hearted, full- 
blooded creatures, somewhat irritable and hasty, 
he was much inclined either to lose his temper 
or bolt from the room. 

But respect for his mother was, with him, no 
mere matter of early and continuous training, 
thoroughly well brought up as he had been in 
this regard. Filial reverence was something 
that belonged to the very currents of his blood. 
He kept himself well in hand. 

But he felt much oppressed, and to get some 
relief he walked, with long strides, up and down 
the small room a few times, and then seated 
himself astride of one of the chairs, bringing it 
close up to his mother, and then began: “How, 
mammy, let us understand one another about 
this matter. What is it you have against 
me?” 

“I? Nothing.” 

“Oh! but there is. Out with it! It’s easier 
for you than for me.” 

“Well, well — I think you are making a mis- 
take in hurrying off to Italy like that.” 

“Now, really, mamma! I’ve been ten days 
here, and you know I didn’t come for treatment; 
my health is right enough.” 

“Treatment, indeed!” She smiled involun- 
tarily as she repeated the words, and her eyes 
went over the young man’s fine frame with a 
sort of triumphant expression in them. She 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


193 


was very proud indeed of this son, idolized him, 
in fact, and would have been only too glad to 
rifle heaven itself of all its treasures for him 
were the thing possible. And she had had so long 
and terrible a struggle with extreme poverty 
that she had come to attach more than rightful 
importance to a secure and prosperous condition 
of life. A good match was a thing she had al- 
ways desired for him; and she had, for some 
time, kept her eyes well open to any opening for 
so desirable a thing. 

But Else’s wealth was by no means the only 
reason which made her long so sincerely for a 
union between him and the young girl. No; 
she knew him better than he knew himself. She 
knew that, in spite of his superficial reserve and 
abstract way of dealing with life, the hot blood 
which had led his less gifted, shallower elder 
brother into such innumerable troubles and con- 
flicts, flowed in Werner’s veins as well. That 
flow was more gentle, less dangerous, perhaps, 
in Werner’s case, because of the bent of his na- 
ture toward the world of dreams, of poetry, of 
romance. But the characteristics of the two 
were radically the same. Sooner or later the 
ferment would begin to work in him ; and then 
all his idealism would not prevent, nay, would 
rather combine with, a certain weakness in the 
structure of his character, the source, probably, 
of his marked amiability and kindness of heart, 
to produce results of incalculable trouble. And 
no one could know when the inflammable ma- 
terial of which he was really composed might 


194 


CHORDS AND DISCOP JS. 


not be fired by some stray r park, carrying ruin 
in every direction. 

Her fears for his futre would not have been 
nearly so great if he hi 1 had more levity in his 
composition, like his grandfather — the old lady’s 
father — who had had a protective touch of genius 
besides, which the grandson was without. 

His grandfather had never exactly overstepped 
those laws of knightly obligation which are so 
singularly compounded of ambiguous and un- 
ambiguous elements, but which every really su- 
perior character easily ascertains and, in the 
main, conforms to. But, apart from any such 
serious infraction of duty, the old lady’s father 
had followed his own instincts in life; and these 
were the instincts of a man of pleasure in the 
less offensive sense of the term. In satisfying 
these he had dashed over every obstacle in his 
path. He had drained the cup of enjoyment to 
the very dregs, filling it at every disposable 
fountain. And, when he could drink no more, 
he had dashed the cup to the ground without 
scruple, and never condescended to give so much 
as a look at the broken pieces. 

But Werner had no trace of this kind of levity 
in him. The Rhenish fire was in him, but he 
had also a terribly large share of North German 
heaviness in his blood. He had none of the un- 
scrupulous temper which is so necessary, some- 
times, if a man is to extricate himself from the 
worst involvements. That drop of inexorable 
cynicism was not in his veins, which is needful 
if a man is not to be a hopeless victim in certain 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


195 


sentimental situations. But he was his mother’s 
idol, faults or no faults; though only she, per- 
haps, had had her eyes always open to the ele- 
ments of latent danger in his composition. It 
had from the first been her conviction that all 
that was noblest in him would receive its best 
conservation and development in a happy mar- 
riage, and she had always longed to bring about 
that result. In her fondest expectations she had 
never hoped to see him mated with any one so 
charming as Else. And here was the foolish 
boy defending himself with might and main, 
with hands and feet, against the happiness that 
was all but thrown at his head. 

“No, indeed, it was not exactly for medical 
treatment that you came here,” she said, after 
a pause. “I know quite well why you came. It 
was because Malve worried you about my health. 
I dare say you are now cursing the hour when 
you put off that journey of yours.” 

“No, no, mother! nothing of the kind! The 
ten days I’ve spent here with you have been 
very delightful. Only — ” He hesitated. 

“Well?” 

“Only, I feel that they ought to stop now.” 

“Indeed! And why, let me ask?” She looked 
at him very sharply. 

“Why?” The blood shot into his brown 
cheeks. “Oh, mother! how can you ask? I 
should never have noticed it, but for you. And 
I’m vexed enough without that, that I — ” 

“Oh! that you can’t shut your eyes, now, to 
the true state of the case? You think yourself 


196 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


wanting in sensitiveness because you cannot, ’ 
his mother said, discontentedly. “Well, in my 
view, if you have any tenderness to spare, you’d 
better be employing it in a different way. I 
can’t make you out at all. There isn’t another 
person in this world who wouldn’t go down on 
his knees and thank his Maker for the happiness 
thro wn in his way ; and you. . . ! Now, just tell 
me, will you, what objection you have to make. 
Is it possible that the girl doesn’t please you?” 

“Mother! quietly, quietly! not so loud!” 
whispered Werner, turning his head to the open 
window. The peculiar perfume of a summer 
night in hilly, woodland country came into the 
room, an odor of the soil cooling off in the even- 
ing, mingled with the smell of foliage and roses, 
and with the sounds of the dance-music from the 
club-house. And, mingling with the faint, far- 
off sound of the waltz there played — a waltz of 
Strauss — there was heard quite another sound; 
that of a soft, bird-like small voice. “No, Mumu, 
it won’t do to-day — really not; my head’s not 
right, I cannot waltz.” 

“And I was looking forward to it with such 
pleasure — such great pleasure!” said a male 
voice, with pain in it — unobtrusive pain. 

“PoorMurau! Another time.” The voices 
were heard no more. 

Mme. Schlitzing attacked him again. “Do 
you mean to tell me that you don’t like her?” 

He was silent for a moment ; he turned his 
head quite involuntarily in the direction where 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


19 ? 


the voices had been heard, and his countenance 
took on a disturbed expression; some struggle 
was going on in him. 

“I should like to know whether you’ve ever 
met a nicer girl in all your life?” went on the 
old lady, in great irritation. “A recognized 
beauty ; a rich heiress, whom people are trying 
for, right and left; and, what is better, a pure, 
original nature, one who looks on life with her 
own beautiful, clear eyes. And goodness of 
heart! Never was there such overflowing, af- 
fecting goodness’ of heart! Are you blind, deaf 
— dull, dull, dull to all these things?” 

His head was sunk on his breast. 44 No, 
mother, I’m neither blind nor deaf nor dull. She 
is a charming girl, a noble girl; but — ” He 
stopped short, and lifted his head in the attitude 
of one listening to something. The two voices 
had come near the window again, but this time 
they went away without his being able to distin- 
guish a single word they uttered. Do what he 
would, he could not help asking himself the 
question: 4 4 What is going on below there? 
What?” He became frightfully agitated. 

“Yes, she is indeed a noble girl,” his mother 
repeated; “she’s so fascinating that one feels as 
if one could eat her up. But that’s not all; she’s 
a fine, solid character; she’s one in whom a man 
can put his whole confidence. And, for all her 
youthful impetuosities, she has a clear, firm 
understanding. She will be, nay, I’m sure she 
is already, a housewife in the highest, noblest 
sense of the term ; a woman who will be a true 


198 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


helpmate to her husband in weal and woe, 
through light and darkness!” 

Then the son laid his hand upon his mother’s 
arm. He had ceased to try to catch what those 
voices might be saying. 4 4 Helpmate — helpmate ! 
What will she, what would she, have to help my 
life in?” he asked, hurriedly. 4 4 There will be 
nothing for me to bear, or for her to help in. Our 
life will have a course as smooth as a looking- 
glass, from one idle day to another; it will be 
spent between enjoyments of a petty kind, and 
comforts of a grandiose kind. And, only twenty- 
five as I am, there will henceforward be no ob- 
ject for me to strive for; my life will be wholly 
without end and aim. Comforts, resources, 
which would have been highly delightful to me 
it I had gained them laboriously, and confront- 
ing perils, will be nothing but a disgust and vex- 
ation to me, will be a stumbling-block to me, be- 
cause they’ve come to me too soon and too easily. 
Look here, mammy dear, it’s just this way. Say 
that a man has made up his mind to a walking 
tour; the distance is great, and the discomforts 
will be equally great, and the whole affair is to 
make a heavy call on his energies. And he is 
heartily enjoying the prospect of a struggle with 
all those difficulties. Then comes somebody, and 
coolly informs him that he can reach the end of 
his journey in one tenth of the time by the rail- 
road, sitting in a comfortable, first-class carriage 
into the bargain. Of course, you get to the same 
place at last, whether it’s the feet or the railroad 
that take you to it. But there are fellows to 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


199 


whom movement, exertion, God’s fresh air, their 
own active, searching outlook into the world and 
the future, are not so much pleasures as necessi- 
ties of life. I can’t endure to think of any sort 
of life without energetic exertion. I am quite 
sure I should be ruined physically and morally in 
the midst of luxuries, and with nothing to rouse 
me. Everything you say about Else is true — 
every- word. God bless and protect her ! she is 
a noble, charming girl!” 

Those voices, with their barely audible mur- 
mur, approached again ; and the sweet perfume 
of the roses came through the window. Werner 
moved his chair nearer to his mother. ‘ ‘ Do you 
think it is so easy a matter, after all, for me to 
refuse what is offered me here?” His voice 
sounded feverish and hoarse. “Yes, indeed! 
Charming is no word for her! Why, to-day — 
she behaved just like an angel to-day! God 
defend me from seeing her sweet, pale little face 
again ! But — but though I do feel drawn to her, 
now and then, just for a moment, I am quite 
clear that it would be wrong, downright wrong, 
to yield to the feeling ; a wrong to her, a wrong 
to myself. I don’t really love her in the one, 
only, deep, true sense of the word. I don’t feel 
that she could ever constitute the highest, the 
one exclusive and absorbing interest of my life. 
Family life, family duty, has always seemed the 
highest thing in the world to me. How could it 
be otherwise, with you for mother? And I am 
sure that if I marry now, and marry Else, my 
spirit will not find rest and peace in marriage — 


200 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


the rest and peace without which no man can 
look forward with security to married life, and 
the upbringing of children.” 

His mother looked 'searchingly into his eyes. 
“Have you an inclination in any other quarter?” 
she asked. 

‘ ‘ No, ” he answered hurriedly — * 1 that is to say” 
— his mother’s eyes were too much for him — “I 
don’t quite know myself,” he murmured; “it is 
something so unsubstantial, such mere fancy — ” 

He had said all that he could manage to say, 
and was much vexed with himself for saying so 
much. 

The sound of the two voices came up to him » 
now, again. His mother was silent too. And now 
there was something quite curious and strange. 

For the last half hour he had been doing his 
utmost to convince his mother of the soundness 
of the view he took of the affair, and showing 
her on what exalted ethical grounds that view 
rested. And now he sat there in breathless ex- 
pectation, longing, almost, that his mother would 
successfully set herself against that view; that 
she would come out with some short, energetic 
speech which would upset at a stroke the whole 
edifice he had been so laboriously rearing. The 
two voices below excited him more and more 
painfully every moment. He longed to run off, 
and go down to see what was happening to that 
couple. 

Heavenly Father ! what tortures he was un- 
dergoing ! And for what? That episode at Elt- 
ville was nothing but a dream. It could lead to 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


201 


nothing. Else, on the other hand, was reality; 
Else was life. He had done everything in his 
power to persuade his mother that a union with 
Else would be an unwarrantable thing; and, at 
this moment, he was hoping from the bottom of 
his heart that he had quite failed. His mothei* 
suddenly raised her head. What would she say? 
He waited with painful anxiety. She spoke very 
slowly, very seriously, almost solemnly. “If it 
is really with you as you say, go your own way 
— the sooner the better — and take my blessing 
with you. I am sorry for the dear, dear girl ; 
but a creature so healthy in body and soul as she 
is will get over it. She’ll not be the worse, or 
the poorer, for the suffering she’ll have to go 
through. And now, good-night, my boy; it has 
been a difficult day for me.” She took her son’s 
head in her two hands, drew him to her and 
kissed him. “My noble boy! my fine, splendid 
boy!” she murmured, “you've upset my plans 
sadly, but I’m proud of you, for all that!” 

He left her. “Well, God be thanked, tnat s 
all over — past and done with!” And then he 
added: “I wish this place was behind me, and I 
was on the road!” 


CHAPTER XVII. 

Werner went down the stairs, and walked 
along the Alley, in the direction of the lower 
springs. He strode along, taking very long steps, 
as though he were running away from some- 


202 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


thing. He was laboring under a feeling of ex- 
treme vexation. He was out of temper with 
somebody or other, whether his mother or himself 
lie could not be certain. The lamplight came 
full on the luxurious' rosebushes lining the Alley. 
The thought went sharply through him that it 
was a foolish thing, life being what it is, to re- 
ject all the roses and choose only the thorns — an 
utterly foolish thing. What could he have been 
thinking about? He felt disposed to curse his 
Quixotic conscientiousness. And what could 
have possessed him to make all those fine speeches 
about it? That was the stupidest trick of all. 
For how could he ever even appear to retract 
them, after having forced his mother to come 
to his way of thinking? 

She had allowed he was in the right. And 
now here he was vacillating again, turning this 
way and that. Was he never to know peace? 
Why was it that he could not make up his mind 
to go in one absolute direction, follow one pur- 
pose without hesitation and without reserve? 
His mother had admitted he was right. He 
ceased to hurry as he had done, walked more 
slowly and deliberately. Then, all of a sudden, 
he shrank violently into himself, as though the 
lightning had struck something at his feet. 
There, along the Alley, coming in the direction 
opposite to his, was the form of a girl, and she 
was quite alone. She caught sight of him, and, 
as he saw, made a sudden movement, as though 
she wanted to spring back into the shadow to es- 
cape his notice ; and some feeling of the same 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


203 


kind, the wish to avoid meeting her, came up in 
himself too. It was too late, however. Eadii 
had clearly seen and recognized the other, and 
both of them knew it. How astonishingly pretty 
she was in her light-blue dress ! In the lamp- 
light she looked deathly pale, and the pallor 
seemed to communicate itself to the dress too. 

Linden was no longer with her. What could 
have happened? Had she given him his dis- 
missal? While this question rose in him, and 
shook him almost as if it were screamed in his 
ears, he came up to her and bowed very low, 
stopping half short in his walk, and behaving 
just as a man does when he hopes or expects that 
the lady whom he meets will be the first to speak. 

It looked, at first, very much as though she 
intended to pass him, with no more than some 
slight movement of recognition ; but she stopped 
and held out her hand to him. “Good-night, 
Laron Schlitzing!” said she, in her soft, bird- 
like voice. 

Everything went out of the young man’s head 
at once, except satisfaction at having this oppor- 
tunity of saying a few kind parting words to the 
girl, words in which he might convey to her 
some idea of the great and sincere esteem in 
which he held her. He told himself that so much 
was owing to her, at all events. 

“I am exceedingly glad to meet you here!” he 
began. “It would have been very painful to 
me to leave without having seriously taken leave 
of you.” 

“Keally?” she murmured; and something of 


204 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


her old, sweet, teasing willfulness suddenly stole 
into her poor pale little face, and gleamed in her 
troubled eyes. 

“You have been very sweet and good to my 
old mother, and I thank you for it from the bot- 
tom of my heart,” he said, in those tones that 
always seemed to have such a warmth of soul in 
them, and with a look at the girl that had the 
same perilous quality. 

But she lifted up her chin a little. “There 
really is nothing to thank me for that I know of. 
I am exceedingly fond of your mother, that is 
all.” 

He was a little embarrassed. He felt that she 
was doing no more than he had drawn upon 
himself, in rapping him over the knuckles in 
that way. “It was silly of me to say that,” he 
confessed to her, with that sincere humility, in 
the face of which, when the feeling is really that 
of a strong man, no woman’s pride or resentment 
can hold out for a moment. “It was quite a 
mistake to thank you for such a thing ; but I 
may at least he allowed to say what a genuine 
delight it has been to me to see you putting sun- 
shine, as you do, into my mother’s life. Or, 
may I not have even that privilege?” 

He smiled in her face, in all seriousness, and 
with an irresistible expression of warmth of 
heart. Everything was forgotten except the 
sensation of the moment, and that was the feel- 
ing of a strange comfortableness, which seemed 
to make it impossible for him to leave her side. 
It had been his purpose only to say three or four 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


205 


words to her ; and here was the matter going on 
indefinitely. 

There was a slight pause. Else was the first 
to speak. 

“I shall certainly do everything in my power 
to make your mother’s time pass as pleasantly 
as may be, when you are gone,” she said, quiet- 
ly. “When do you leave?” 

“To-morrow, about eight.” 

“Well, I wish you a most prosperous and 
happy journey. Good-night!” She held out 
her hand to him once again ; but when she tried 
to withdraw it, he drew it to his lips. 

“ Good- night !” he murmured. “God protect 
you, and send you all the happiness you so richly 
deserve!” 

Her eyes suddenly filled with tears, and 
then ... 

“Else!” he cried, and the next moment he 
had her in his arms, and was kissing her as 
though his whole life had only known one single 
passionate desire, that of pressing his hot lips on 
her soft, tender mouth. 

She let him do as he would, without the least 
resistance. She had thrown both arms round 
his neck, and nestled to him like a child that has 
found its mother after going about in every di- 
rection, in painful perplexity, to see where she 
was. Her surrender was frank, entire, unre- 
served ; there was no morbid passion in it, and 
no shyness ; there was nothing there but purity, 
simplicity and straightforwardness. It was the 
behavior of a girl sound to the very core. 


206 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“Oh! you wicked, wicked fellow ! How could 
you torture me so?” 

“My darling!” he murmured, in low tones, 
“my own sweet, my heart’s darling!” 

His caresses were as warm as caresses well 
could he, and all his heart seemed to be in his 
voice. But, for all that, she suddenly extricated 
herself from his arms, and held a little back from 
him for a moment. 

“Is it true? Is it really true?” she asked him, 
with a look that had some pain and perplexity 
in it. 

“What?” 

“That you love me?” 

“Is it true?” he exclaimed. “Oh, Else! darl- 
ing Else ! what possible reason could I have for 
pretending to do so, if it were not so?” He 
kissed her hands, one after the other. “It isn’t 
generous of you to doubt me like that. You 
should not, certainly ! Think what a poor, pen- 
niless devil I am!” 

But, when he said that, she laughed through 
her tears, and laid her hand on his arm and 
shook him a little. 

“Oh! you needn’t pull a long face like that, as 
if somebody had done you the worst of injuries, 
Werner 7” Oh, how deliciously that “Werner” 
sounded on her lips, strangely and deliciously. 
“That you’ve not been influenced by my miser- 
able little bit of money I know quite well, even 
better than you do yourself. It was something 
quite different that I was afraid of. And I— I 

I’ve been fond of you for such a terribly long 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


207 


time! Haven’t you really seen that I was? 
Wasn’t it too, too plain?” 

To make any answer to this very straightfor- 
ward question, without speaking falsely or un- 
kindly, was a task requiring almost more than 
human skill. Bat he managed to do it. 

“Else,” he whispered, “how should I ever 
have plucked up courage to address you at all, 
if I hadn’t guessed just a little, little bit?” 

“And you didn’t really intend to go off to 
Italy, did you?” she further pressed him. “All 
you meant was to try me, and bring me to my 
knees, you — ” 

“Oh! I don’t really know quite what I meant, 
but I know quite well now what I mean, and 
what I want,” he murmured, kissing her hands 
again and again. “My own heart’? darling! 
my own soul!” 

They heard a noise, in the distance, of the 
doors of the club-house being closed. “Good- 
night!” cried Else. She put her hands on his 
shoulders, rose to the tips of her toes, and gave 
him one short, quick kiss. Then, before he could 
say or do anything, she fled from the spot in 
breathless haste, and made for the hotel where 
she was staying. 

He followed her with all a lover’s looks, but 
felt she had been a little too much for him. 
“Charming, delightful thing she is!” he mur- 
mured to himself. She had done right, he ad- 
mitted, in running off at that hour. But he 
would so much have liked to keep her with him 
a little longer. Oh, well, there was to-morrow— 


208 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


to-morrow ! Then the thought suddenly struck 
him, in the midst of his exultation, that there 
were some other things in the world besides ; that 
he had already made quite other dispositions for 
the following day. He seemed to wake up from 
a sort of dream. The clock struck half-past ten ; 
the gas-lamps were extinguished by this time. 

Yes, it came back to him now ; he had actually 
ordered the carriage for to-morrow, for his drive 
to Eltville. He remembered that he had had a 
long discussion with his mother, in which he 
proved to demonstration that it would not be 
right for him to take Else Hied. He remem- 
bered that she had, at last, given way to his rea- 
soning ; her last words now came ringing in liis 
ears. ‘ ‘ My noble boy ! my splendid boy! You’ve 
crossed my plans dreadfully, but I’m proud of 
you, for all that!” And now . . . 

The intoxication which had overcome him in 
Else’s presence was gone. And there came upon 
him, in all its bitterness, in all its heaviness, the 
sense of having undergone a moral defeat, of 
God knows what import ! 

When he went to his couch, that night, sleep 
came to him soon ; as it does to tired men after 
a lost battle. But, after an hour or two, he woke 
suddenly with a painful feeling at his chest, as 
though the power of drawing breath was being 
taken from him. It was intensely dark. His 
heart was hammering at his ribs. What could 
have happened? What was it that had fright- 
ened him? 

He had affianced himself to Else Hied ! Her 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


209 


sweet little face came before him. He tried to 
bring up again in his soul the feeling of warm, 
vital, searching happiness that had been there 
when she was by his side. He could not. Hap- 
piness had fallen — happiness, good fortune — in 
the shape of a heavy burden, into his arms. The 
burden was refined gold, but it oppressed him. 
He felt that it was tearing him, weighing him 
down to the very ground. And if he sank there, 
would he be able to rise again? God only knew ! 

Next morning, old Mme. Schlitzing was rather 
earlier than usual in the shady little open space 
at the right of the Nassau Alley, where she was 
in the habit of breakfasting. The table was 
spread, and her coffee was before her, but she 
could not make up her mind to drink it. She 
had quite lost her appetite. Her heart was 
heavy with the thought of Werner’s impending 
departure. 

“And yet, he was right,” she said to herself; 
“under the circumstances he was right. My 
noble boy ! Any other, in his place, would have 
seized on such a chance with both hands. A 
splendid fellow is my Werner !*” and her old eyes 
shone bright with proud excitement. But what 
was keeping him? She. would have liked him 
to be a little longer with her this last morning. 
Every other day he used to knock at her door 
punctually at eight o’clock, to carry her to her 
rolling-chair. But this morning she had had to 
hobble out of the room, with no better help than 
Thilda’s arm. 


210 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


At last he made his appearance. His hands 
were in his jacket pockets, and he had an em- 
barrassed smile on his face, which did not seem 
to perform the proper functions of a smile at all. 

“Good-morning, mamma! How is it with 
you? Had a good night?” he asked, coming up 
to her. 

“Well, it might have been better. Parting 
from a child always cuts rather deep into an old 
heart,” said she, tenderly. “But, as you have 
to go, I suppose one must reconcile one’s self to 
it as best one may.” 

He seated himself by her side, and poured out 
some coffee for her. A pause followed. His 
mother began to perceive that all was not with 
him quite as it should be. Then Werner looked 
up at her, still having on his face that curious, 
forced smile, the smile of a schoolboy who has 
said his lesson very badly, and is trying to find 
some excuse for it. At last he managed to bring 
out: “But, after all, I am not going away; I’m 
going to stay. Great things have happened since 
our talk of last night. There has been a com- 
plete change in all my circumstances and plans. 
I have to ask your congratulations, mother dear 
— your best congratulations. Yesterday I be- 
came engaged to Mademoiselle Elizabeth Hied!” 
All this he said in a voice little becoming the 
gravity of the occasion, with more of jest than 
seriousness in it. That it was so did not escape 
his own ear, and it was very disagreeable to him. 
But, do what he would, he could give his voice 
no other inflection. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


211 


He had not the courage to look his mother in 
the face, when he imparted this news to her. 
And he clutched wildly at the idea that perhaps, 
after all, she would take the thing well. He 
lifted up his eyes. His mother sat there rigid, 
as if she had been turned to stone, pale as a 
corpse. A short, leaden silence followed, then 
the old woman turned to Thilda, saying: 
‘ ‘ Thilda, fetch me my black shawl, the air is 
damp.” 

“I will fetch the shawl,” offered Werner, 
hastily. 

“No; I wish Thilda to go,” she said, inci- 
sively. “You stay here V ’ 

Mother and son were alone. 

The old woman said nothing to him ; her look 
seemed to say that there were no words for such 
a case as this. And a severe, disapproving look 
it was. Never in all her life, and his, had she 
looked at him like that. 

It was more than he could stand, after a little 
while, there was such contempt in her glance. 
He rebelled; he thought that she was taking 
an exaggerated view of things. “What is the 
matter with you, mother?” he said, hoarsely. 
“Better speak, and then we shall get it over.” 

She measured him once again, from head to 
foot, and then said, slowly: “I believed I had a 
son who knew what he wished for, and did only 
what he thought it right for him to do ; but — it 
is clear that I have been laboring under a delu- 
sion.” 

The words were like a blow in his face. He 


212 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


clinched his fist and his teeth, and then began 
in a hoarse, compressed voice: “All that is very 
fine, mother; and, up to a certain point, I can- 
not but agree with you. But, after all, the cir- 
cumstances — ” 

She broke in passionately: “Circumstances, 
indeed! Don’t let me hear the wicked word! 
That’s what weaklings are always doing, plead- 
ing circumstances. The best thing you can do 
is to say nothing ; you have cut yourself off from 
all retreat. Be it so. Look to it now, that, at 
least — ” She stopped short suddenly ; her rigid 
features took quite another expression, of softness 
and tenderness. Her eyes left his countenance, 
as though drawn by some quite other person. 

She must have felt, if she did not see, who was 
coming. It was Else! She had been in the 
wood, and was now emerging from it by the 
Rauenthaler Road, and she had a big wreath of 
wild- flowers in her hand. She looked more 
beautiful than ever; the light in her eyes had 
doubled in intensity, and there was an indescrib- 
able movement and expression about her mouth, 
that peculiar expression which shows that the 
first kiss of pure, passionate love has been 
pressed on a girl’s lips. The hair about her tem- 
ples shone golden in the sun under her broad- 
rimmed straw hat, which threw a shadow, more 
like a transparent veil than anything else, upon 
her love- filled eyes. 

When she caught sight of the mother and son 
she blushed deeply and stopped short. The 
mother nodded to her. Then she ran up to her 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


213 


as swiftly as a young fawn, knelt down by her 
side, threw her arms around the old lady in shy 
rapture, and said in an agitated whisper: “Has 
he told you all about it? Are you glad? Will 
you give us your blessing, sweet mother?” 

The old lady could not answer for a little 
while. The girl felt her hesitation, and looked 
up to her with a sort of wounded alarm. “I am 
not good enough for him,” she said, in a half 
voice, laughing and weeping at the same time ; 
and then, in a lower voice, to the mother’s ear : 
“I am convinced of that in my inmost heart!” 

“Not good enough!” cried the old lady, in 
a sort of suppressed exasperation, kissing the 
glowing face of the girl tenderly on lips and fore- 
head. “I don’t know the man on this earth that 
you are not good enough for!” 

“It is quite the other way, Else!” said Wer- 
ner, somewhat bitterly. “My mother does not 
think me good enough for you!” 

“Perhaps I do!” said his mother. 

But Else’s reply to this was to rise quickly to 
her feet. Then, going to her lover’s side, and 
placing his hand on her shoulder, she said, with 
a little passion: “That’s a thing you and I will 
settle together, isn’t it so, Werner?’ 

He took the girl’s dear, warm hand in his. 
“You see, you have no alternative, mother, but 
to wish us every happiness. ” 

“Well, well!” replied the old lady, “I do wish 
you every happiness, God knows I do ! with all 
my heart and soul; and, above all, that you, 
Werner, may always prove yourself worthy of 


214 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


the precious jewel which God has been pleased 
to set in your life! As for the rest” — and here 
the solemn tone in which she had been speaking 
changed, and her voice suddenly became drier 
and harder—' “for the rest, Else, make a man of 
him ! Perhaps you may meet with better success 
in that than I have, or should. ’ ’ 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

All the world approved, without a dissentient 
voice. ISTo one had a word to say against this 
engagement of Werner Schlitzing and Else Ried. 
“An extraordinarily suitable match!” was the 
general verdict. ‘ ‘ The sort of engagement which 
might almost make one say that the very doves 
of Venus and Cupid had made the marriage!” 
was the remarkable criticism of Mdlle. Fuhr- 
wesen. Countess Warsberg assured all her ac- 
quaintances that she was more than satisfied with 
her nephew’s choice; and old Baron Ried, whose 
workmen were still pulling his old chateau to 
pieces, and who, accordingly, still could not have 
his daughter with him there, gave his blessing 
in all form, and had a delightful gossip with 
Mme. Schlitzing about old times. 

But the deeply serious expression did not leave 
that old lady’s face. She carefully observed all 
her son’s movements, and seemed to find very 
little satisfaction in them. And this made her 
all the warmer and more tenderly maternal in 
her behavior to Else. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


2*15 


When Krugenberg was, at last, in a condition 
to receive guests under its roof, the old lady took 
up her abode there, taking her son’s fiancee 
under her wing until the wedding. 

Of course, there could be no further question 
of any journey to Italy for Werner. He divided 
his time, before the marriage, between Krugen- 
berg and Berlin. 

Autumn came on. The waters of the Rhine 
changed their color and grew dark, and the leaves 
began to fall from the bushes. The days short- 
ened ; the dawn was later and later in breaking, 
the light failed earlier and earlier every day. 

In that House of Sadness at Eltville the life of 
the two pale women, the aged and the youthful, 
went on in its dull, monotonous, uniform course. 
And when the autumn was old, and winter now 
not far off, the windows ’of the apartments in 
which the aged woman lived were closed, and 
the mutterings of the prayers were no longer 
heard by those without. 

But the windows of the young girl’s room re- 
mained open, even when the autumn air became 
sharp, cold, almost wintry. 

During the daylight hours, everything in that 
house was deathly still. But in the night hours, 
a fine ear might detect footsteps, uneven foot- 
steps, as of one walking uneasily to and fro, fit- 
ful as the pulse of one stricken with fever; the 
footsteps of an imprisoned creature trying all the 
time to find some outlet from the cage to which 
it seemed condemned for life, seeking and find- 
ing none. 


216 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


And there was one other who, at this critical 
time, turned uneasily, first to one side then to 
another, to find rest for his spirit ; and could 
not. And this was Werner. Else appealed 
strongly to his affections, to his sense of pity; he 
was fond of her, in a sense, very fond. Where 
Else was, there was warmth and sunshine ; but 
when she was no longer present to him bodily, 
then — then — 

If he had been asked to put into clear words 
some reasons for the disturbance under which 
his soul labored all the time, he could not have 
done it. It was something quite indefinable; 
a shuddering sense of breathing all the while 
some atmosphere which had no power to sustain 
life ; something like the fear of a man lest ghosts 
should rise up to overwhelm him at any moment, 
while he does not even believe in ghosts. 

The wedding day approached nearer and 
nearer; and then there came one day, when 
Werner was constrained to say to himself, “To- 
morrow — to-morrow !” 

According to arrangements, the marriage was 
to take place at Krugenberg. After the usual, 
somewhat noisy, festivities with which the as- 
sembled guests celebrate the eve of a wedding — 
which had seemed very protracted and weari- 
some to Werner — he found himself, at last, at 
liberty to withdraw to his chamber. It was 
strange. The night before his first battle he had 
slept the sound, tranquil sleep cf a child, but 
now he could not even keep his eyes closed ; try 
as he would, he could not. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


217 


He tossed about on his luxurious spring mat- 
iress, and resented the cool, silky smoothness of 
the linen sheets. His veins seemed on fire. The 
whole thing was too soft, too luxurious, too com- 
fortable. He would have given the world to be 
free, at large, tramping with his regiment 
through the mud, sleeping on the ground in 
camp, bivouacking under any sky, however 
stormy. Then it suddenly came back to him 
what a splendid night of sleep he had had in the 
forest, in God’s free air, on the road from Elt- 
ville to Schlangenbad. He seemed almost to feel 
that odorous, glorious air in his nostrils; he 
stretched out his arms, as if it were some living 
thing he could clasp. He was fond of Else, yes, 
very fond ; but he would have been thankful to 
have been ten weeks younger than at this mo- 
ment, and have the chance of doing otherwise 
with his young life. 

His throat felt as if he were being bowstrung, 
and something seemed to be compressing the 
veins at the pulses, both of hands and feet. His 
breast seemed absolutely to be swollen by the 
currents of his blood; his thoughts became a 
mere tangle and confusion. He was dreaming 
— dreaming, though scarcely asleep. 

The dread certainty of marriage clung to him 
in his dream. But the wedding was to be in 
Schlangenbad, not Krugenberg. He was in .a 
mortal hurry to reach Schlangenbad, but he was 
too late for train after train. Then, somehow, 
he was at Eltville. He saw a young girl dressed 
in white, with the bridal wreath upon her head. 


218 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


She was going through the streets of Eltville, 
singing in a low voice: “Die, love and joy! die, 
love and light !” She had something in her hand. 
He followed her footsteps till she reached the 
Rhine banks, feeling all the while that he had 
no right to be wasting his time like that; for 
was it not his wedding-day? But some force 
drew him on that he could not resist. He heard 
the rustling swish of the river; heard it quite 
distinctly. 

The girl in white turned suddenly to him, and 
fixed him with her large, dark eyes. He asked 
her what it was she held in her hands. “Thy 
destiny!” said she, and, with those words, 
sprang into the river. He sprang after her. 
Long and bitterly did they struggle together 
under the waves. He could breathe no more. 
He brought her to the surface, to the land. He 
held her in his arms — oh, how tenderly, how 
closely, how rapturously ! Then she grew warm 
again with life on his breast; she opened her 
eyes, and threw her arms about his neck, and 
kissed him once, once, only once — one single, 
hot, burning kiss % upon the lips. And then he 
tried to press a kiss upon her lips. But she was 
dead. Horror, dread — helpless horror and dread 
took possession of his sleeping soul ! 

What to do with the corpse — what, what? 
Then, suddenly, he heard the clash of bells. They 
were his marriage-bells, and they were summon- 
ing him away. So he left the corpse there, on 
the banks of the Rhine, and went with breathless 
haste, and with the weight of mountains on his 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


210 


breast, to his wedding. The pealing of the bells 
was louder and louder in his ears. His eyes 
opened, his brow was damp, the many sounds of 
morning had shaken him from his dream. 

An ugly dream, indeed, for a bridegroom ! He 
rose, dressed himself hastily, and went below 
into the park. 

He felt as though he had done Else some 
wrong in the past hours; it must be made good. 
He looked about to see if he could find some late, 
lingering roses for her ; he would put them on 
her plate, and when she came to breakfast she 
would find them there. But look where he 
would, not a rose could he see. There had been 
a frost in the night. All the roses were dead. 
The leaves were falling in crowds from the 
bushes to the hoar- white ground; they were 
blood-red, yellow, brown. And Werner went 
along in a frozen, melancholy world, and strove 
to put his thoughts in order for the most serious 
step of his life. But the thoughts refused to 
obey. And when he tried to hold them fast, lo ! 
they were gone ! And, in their place, fantastic 
images, pictures, songs, went confusedly through 
his head. He saw the Rhine before him, and in 
his ears there was the sound of that strain of 
fate: “Die, love and joy! die, love and light!” 


CHAPTER XIX. 

In a room provided with every luxury in the 
way of furniture — in one of the new houses on 


220 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


the Leipzig Place, at Berlin — we see seated a 
young man in civilian costume. He is at his 
writing-desk and is yawning over some work 
in which he finds no satisfaction, and the end 
or aim of which he finds it difficult to see. 

The young man has just turned thirty; he 
wears a full brown beard so delicate that you 
might almost call it transparent; his hair is 
short and somewhat curly, and is already 
touched with gray. He impresses you as 
one who had just missed being a strikingly 
handsome man; but his shoulders had too 
much breadth for a person of his age; and the 
lines of his features had fallen in, as if they had 
begun to wither long before their time. 

He presented the appearance of a man of re- 
laxed fibers, with a weight pressing on him; of 
a man the best and strongest part of whose 
powers are lying fallow, or in perilous, latent 
fermentation. 

This was Werner Schlitzing after seven years 
of marriage, universally recognized as happy. 
He had now for some time abandoned his mili- 
tary career and thrown up his commission. At 
first he devoted himself in a more or less blun- 
dering way to agricultural pursuits. For the 
last three years, however, he had occupied him- 
self with extensive researches and other prepara- 
tions for a history of the War of Liberation in 
Germany (1806-1814). And he had even gone 
so far as to compose some trial chapters — if they 
might be so called. 

A thick folio lay open before him, and hy its 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


221 


side some sheets of paper sewn together, in which 
he was jotting down notes. At this particular 
moment he was trying his best to write an elab- 
orate “characterization” of the Chevalier Stein. 
It was to be something quite new and original. 
But he made no progress with it at all ; and he 
saw suddenly — but with inexorable clearness, 
to his great chagrin and humiliation — that his 
“new” characterization of Germany’s noble re- 
generator was nothing but a re- hash of the in- 
numerable other portraits of the great man 
already before the world; the only difference 
being that this new effort was enriched with 
a few of those excesses or extravagances in 
style peculiar to our later and more adven- 
turous literature. 

He laid down his pen in great vexation. How 
silly, how awkward and foolish, appeared to him 
these attempts of his to “write history!” How 
ridiculous all this vain taking of pains to clothe 
in new statements and words, instead of those 
which people were already familiar with, facts 
perfectly well known. It was really no better 
than helping his children to make the toys they 
were fond of putting together with scraps of 
wicker. He yawned. Then he suddenly asked 
himself whether— instead of a long comprehen- 
sive history — it wouldn’t be better to write some 
short, spirited, unscrupulous pamphlet — say a 
parallel, or contrast, between Stein and Bis- 
marck. Yes, that would be something, at all 
events. 

The thing ought to be such that people would 


222 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


at ©noe cry out against it as indiscreet; so it 
would have to be published anonymously. Then, 
iiis reflections were arrested by one single thought 
connected with it, and could go no further. It 
must be, it would be, a gigantic success. 

Ho was in possession cf plenty of material for 
“indiscretion”— as far as that matter went — in 
private communications he had received at one 
time or another from friends in Frankfurt. 

It would be something, at all events, to rouse 
the curiosity of all Germany. But he recoiled 
with a sudden disgust from all these inviting 
prospects of a literary scandal. Such things, 
after all, were not his line; it must not be! 
Self-respect, the respect of others, these things 
had always been the daily food of his life, more 
or less. It must never be otherwise! 

He yawned again; and then again. And 
then — like all people with whom time drags — 
he looked at his watch. It occurred to him 
that he had some engagement or other for the 
afternoon. Yes; to be sure, he had it! But 
first he must go and say good-by to Else. He 
rose and went to the drawing-room. 

A large airy room it was, this drawing-room, 
furnished in precisely the same fashion as had 
prevailed at Wiesbaden some seven years be- 
fore, at a time when the tasteless absurdities of 
the Second Empire were still in damaging vogue 
at that watering-place; the furniture all covered 
with yellow damask, staring red mahogany ta- 
bles, some ceramic oddities, stands for flowers, 
and a great many mirrors in gilded frames. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


223 


But the room seemed a good sort of place to 
be in. The furniture was all of solid make and 
comfortable; there was not too much of it, and 
there was nothing there that looked as if it 
would go over at a touch. But it had nothing 
of the subtle harmony of color to be found in the 
private apartments of some ladies, where every- 
thing is as carefully devised as skill can do it, to 
constitute a picturesque background and frame- 
work for the figure of the gentlewoman in com- 
mand there. Else’s salon was no more than the 
reception-room of a young woman very amiable 
and very German, and conservative in her ten- 
dencies ; the sort of woman who never gets over 
a certain turn for the ugly, because of the 
strength of old associations, perhaps. It was 
the reception-room of a young woman not in 
the least absorbed by her personal interests, and, 
least of all, her own beauty, and whose only 
thought is to make a few friends feel happy and 
at their ease in her hospitable home. 

Yes: it was a chamber which appealed to the 
affections. You seemed to breathe a good sound 
healthy atmosphere there, with a pleasant infu- 
sion of some perfume, the ingredients of which 
were quite honest and unadulterated. And, 
perhaps, the impression of that perfume was 
derivable altogether from a certain most sweet 
and lovable presence that was there, at the 
moment we make our entry in the apartment; 
a charming little creature with a very big pair 
of scissors and a very little watering-pot, who 
was at this moment adding to her innumerable 


224 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


claims upon our affection and esteem that of 
being busily engaged in attending to the health 
of one of the plants on one of the old-fashioned 
flower-stands. 

Werner could not help standing still fora mo- 
ment at the threshold of the room to tarke a good 
look at her. His eyes shone with a light that 
showed that, after the seven years of marriage, 
he was as keenly sensible as ever of his young 
wife’s merits and charms. How pretty she 
looked, how sweet! Hot a particle of her bloom 
diminished in all this time; fresh as the morn- 
ing dews still; just as much so as when she 
waltzed madly down the Nassau Alley on that 
morning with Linden! 

Indeed, her beauty might be said rather to 
have gained than diminished, by reason of a 
greater intensity of expression now to be seen 
in her eyes and about her mouth. How charm- 
ing was the line of the chin and cheeks! Only, 
only — well, perhaps she might have been a trifle 
better dressed. Why, why did she persist in 
wearing that eternal black satin dress? 

This dress had been a too familiar acquaint- 
ance ever since his marriage; it had a history, 
and had experienced many metamorphoses. It 
had first entered this world white of color; in 
that, its first stage, it was an imposing state- 
dress, trimmed with Brussels lace, and had been 
made as a proper contribution to the effect of 
some gala occasion, when Wiesbaden received 
and feted certain crowned heads. Then it had 
got spots of rust on it, here and there, owing to 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


225 


its having been laid away so long unused, in 
consequence of which it was dyed black, and 
had subsequently done useful service in minor 
soires. Its final distinction would be to go into 
the hands of the lady’s maid, in order to be cut 
down and re-composed to a condition of extreme 
simplicity, outside of fashionable motive; and 
in this, its last estate, it would represent, with 
a living female inside it of course, the “girl in 
black silk,” whom every house wife of impor- 
tance has such frequent use for, to impress her 
callers and visitors withal. 

Werner hated this dress with a mortal hatred. 
It seemed to him the incorporate and visible 
chronicle of all the intolerable amount of “social 
entertainment” which, since his marriage, he 
had had to swallow as best he might, at Kru- 
genberg and Wiesbaden. 

“Ah, Werner! Do you want anything?” she 
asked, looking up from her plants as he ap- 
proached. And as she spoke, without putting 
down the little green watering-can which she 
had in her hand, she raised herself on the tips 
of her feet to give him a kiss. 

“Can I see to anything for you, Else?” he 
said. “I am going out.” 

“Where?” 

“I promised Thilda to go to her studio.” 
There was a little restraint in his voice. 

That young lady had, some time before, be- 
come quite independent, having inherited some 
substantial property. When this occurred, she 
bade farewell to her stepmother and established 


2 26 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


herself in Berlin, devoting herself with great 
zeal to painting and giving her genius full 
course, wherever it might take her; if “ genius’ ’ 
that should be called which was, in truth, no more 
than exemplary and insupportable absurdity. 

“Thilda! That’s not important; I was reck- 
oning on your going with me to Schulte’s.” 

Else put away her watering-pot and laid down 
her scissors. 

“Oh! we can go to-morrow to Schulte,” he 
answered; “besides, it is late to-day.” 

“But I don’t see why to-morrow won’t do just 
as well for Thilda,” said Else, making a comi- 
cal pretense of going out of temper. 

“Oh, you know how sensitive and easily irri- 
tated Thilda is. She thinks we do not at all 
sufficiently acknowledge her talent, and that we 
ought to take much more interest than we do in 
her artistic endeavors. And she begged me par- 
ticularly to come to-day.” 

“Really! Had she any particular reason?” 
Else blinked a little as she said this. 

“Well, yes. She’s painting Princess Orban- 
off ’s portrait, you know, and it seems that lady 
would like to have my opinion about the pose. 
She pretends to consider my criticism very valu- 
able.” 

“Hm! that’s it, is it? And I suppose, of 
course, the lovely Ilka, nee Countess Iwant- 
schitsch, has written to you herself on the im- 
portant affair?” observed Else, in tones which 
had plainly something of contemptuous depreci- 
ation in them. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


22T 


“She has, indeed. Would you like to read her 
letter ; here it is, ’ ’ said W erner, taking the doc- 
ument out of his breast-pocket. “Would you 
like to read it?” 

“The idea of s^ich a thing!” said Else, who 
was really a little vexed. But, for all that, she 
threw a glance at the closely-scribbled sheet. 
“So, she addresses you as ‘Dearest friend’? Per- 
haps you address her also as ‘Dearest friend’?” 

“Nay; up to the present moment I’ve never 
addressed her in any way except simply as 
‘Princess,’ without more. But if that seems to 
you too familiar, for the future I’ll say, when I 
write, ‘Your highness,’ ” and Werner laughed. 

“‘Your highness!’ These little Russian 
princes are not highnesses at all!” cried Else, 
contemptuously. 

“How comical you are, Else! I declare, one 
might almost fancy that you’re jealous!” 

“J ?” Else threw up her charming little nose. 
“Jealous! How can you suggest such a dis- 
graceful absurdity? I? Do you suppose that — 
that — I should be as fond of you as I am, if I did 
not know quite well’ ’ — here she drew him to her, 
and gave him a slight slap — “if I didn’t know 
quite well that you are the noblest, purest heart- 
ed man in the whole world. Jealous, indeed ! I ! 
I think that the Orbanoff woman is a great deal 
too pushing ; but if you like to amuse yourself 
with the ways of that lump of fat, you’re quite 
welcome to, I’m sure. And much good may it 
do you!” 

‘ ‘ Lump of f at ! ” he echoed. Else’s little burst 


228 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


of temper had restored his own equilibrium, and' 
he thought it would be nice to tease her a little. 
“Lump of fad! She’s a beautiful woman, I say, 
fat or no fat, I assure you she is ; and her beauty 
is just of that kind which tuyis men’s heads.” 

This was too much. Far from being annoyed, 
Else burst out into hearty laughter. “Really! 
Is that so ? ” she exclaimed. 1 ‘ W ell, if that is the 
case, I won*’t stand in your way. Go and enioy 
yourself. Go and get yourself dazed a little by 
this beauty that turns men’s heads. And now 
look sharp, or else you’ll lose the best of the light; 
you’ll want it for your important bit of criticism. ’ ’ 

“Oh! there’s time enough; it will be quite 
light enough a quarter of an hour hence, ’ ’ said 
Werner, who did not seem at all anxious to get 
away. He had seated himself on one of the yel- 
low sofas by Else’s side, and began to stroke her 
hands and cheeks. 

“Oh! let me alone, and go along with you!” 
cried Else, disengaging herself from him. 
“There’ll be a nice company of you there, in 
Thilda’s studio. It’s a pity I can’t take a good 
look at the trio through some peep-hole ! Thilda, 
leaning on her malstick, blinking heavily at the 
model ; you, not far from Thilda, blinking atten- 
tively also — and, before you both, the model — 
decolletee, of course, lavishly decolletee — and all 
huddled up in some pose that signifies pining to 
death for somebody — with her head — now, shall 
I turn the head? so, or so? And her arms — 
well, both arms over her head ! That’s the best 
way of displaying them ! Much good may it do 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


229 


you, dear old man ! But it’s like them, asking 
you to go and play critic in a studio. Why, you 
know about as much about painting, from top to 
bottom, as a dromedary does about playing the 
piano!” 

“Else, you shall pay me with a kiss for that 
piece of rudeness!” 

“No, no, no!” 

“You’ve put me out of conceit with the prin- 
cess altogether. Come .along to Schulte. Put 
your hat on ; I’d much rather go with you there. ’ ’ 

“Don’t want to, now. Besides, I haven’t 
courage enough to bring down on my devoted 
head the combined hatred of Ilka and Thilda 
both. Go where your heart calls you, Werner; 
but don’t, don’t you forget that we dine to-night 
at Aunt Warsberg’s!” 

“Hadn’t the least idea of such a thing; when 
did she invite us?” 

“Yesterday. She begged us, in her note, to 
be nice and gdod- tempered, and not to take it 
amiss that she had invited us at the last mo- 
ment.” 

“Indeed! Well, I’ll tell you what I think!” * 
exclaimed Werner. “It means that we’re wanted 
to fill up a couple of unexpected gaps at her 
table. And you have accepted, without saying 
a word to me — eh?” 

“If I had asked you, you would have been 
sure to refuse; and I’m glad to take every oppor- 
tunity of forcing you to go into the world. You 
do get a little distraction on such occasions, if 
not much, poor, dear old Whimsical ! And I have 


230 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


an idea that it’s going to be a particularly nice 
dinner. Linden told me so. He can’t come, 
more’s the pity, because he has to dine to-day 
with the War Secretary. Besides, it’s always 
nice at Aunt Warsberg’s.” 


CHAPTER XX. 

Yes, it was always “nice” at Aunt Wars- 
berg’s. People might think what they pleased 
of the model- countess, but there was one thing 
that everybody was forced to admit. Her house 
was one of the most pleasant, and her invitations 
were among those most eagerly sought for, in 
all Berlin. 

How she had managed to bring things so far 
as this it would have been quite difficult to say; 
but this, at all events, was certain, she owed her 
success far more to the qualities in which she 
was deficient than to those which she was en- 
dowed with. 

She was not beautiful; she was not young; 
she was not intellectual ; she was not witty, and, 
in consequence of this, she was never in any- 
body’s way in her own salon. Unlike many 
other ladies at the head of important households, 
she left every place free for her guests to occupy 
according to their talents or tastes, making no 
prior claim for herself. She made no point of 
concentrating the attention of the gentlemen 
upon her own person ; she all but effaced herself, 
and, thus, never marred the pleasant progress of 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


231 


anything going forward by her own intervention, 
as so many hostesses do. Countess Lenzdorff 
one day summed up, in a few apt words, all her 
merits as a hostess, when she said: “The Wars- 
berg is like an agreeable neutral background in 
her own house, throwing up her guests well in 
the foreground.” 

She resided in the best quarter of the town, in 
a tasteful mansion, not too large, which had for- 
merly been the property of a wealthy stocking 
manufacturer. It was intrenched in front from 
the noise and observation of the street by a pleas- 
ant little garden, and the entrance was at the 
side of the house, and by a stairway inclosed in 
glass — a sort of exterior conservatory. This 
stairway led first to a small ante-chamber; and 
from that you passed, by way of a door paneled 
with colored glass, into a high, airy hall adorned 
with statues and growing palm-trees. 

The statues kept themselves in the back- 
ground, in a sort of shamefaced way, almost 
hiding themselves among the palms. And they 
showed their good taste in so doing. They were 
inheritances from the time when the stocking- 
maker reigned there; and their settlement in 
that hall was due to a journey to Italy made by 
that gentleman, who had thought it only right 
to exhibit to his friends the result of his training 
in art obtained in that excursion. 

The only really beautiful and valuable decora- 
tion of this hall was a large Renaissance chim- 
ney-piece, of reddish marble, decorated with 
elaborate and delicate carvings, subtle and gro- 


232 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


tesque. This prize Countess Warsberg had car- 
ried off in a razzia she had made, one day, in a 
monastery in the Rhine country when on the 
hunt, here and there, for antiquities. 

And it must be said in her favor that she 
never failed to bring back with her from her 
campaigns some article or other with the genu- 
ine stamp of art upon it. She had a true feel- 
ing and eye for art, in fact, which was shown 
equally in the inanimate objects with which her 
rooms were decorated, and in the animate bipeds 
whom she collected about her as guests. She 
was always a sort of center for works of art, and 
personages who were either interested in art, or 
themselves artistic, or artistically artificial, and 
who, therefore, belonged themselves to the cate- 
gory of 4 4 works of art. ’ ’ 

This feature of her salon it was which — taken 
together with the neutral gray of its background 
constituted by her own person — gave it its special 
individuality, and constituted its chief attrac- 
tion. 

People were always finding, at her house, 
things new or old which were not to be met 
with elsewhere, and human beings, too, of whom 
the same might be said. And Else and Werner 
belonged to this last section — of the human rari- 
ties, namely, present at the dinner we have just 
heard of. 

Werner looked very handsome, as usual, and 
very distinguished, and, besides that, seemed 
bored to extinction; a combination which the 
ladies found quite irresistible. Those veiled, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 233 

half- sleepy eyes of his lent themselves to much 
speculation, on the part of those fair creatures, 
as to the interesting qualities which might be 
lurking in the possessor of such romantic orbs. 

Else, on the other hand, was fresh and bloom- 
ing as ever, and in the highest spirits ; more like 
a young girl at her first ball than a matron at a 
dinner party. And she looked enchantingly 
pretty in her white silk dress, trimmed with rich 
old lace, which had come to her from her mother. 
This time her toilet was open to no exception 
whatever. Werner’s glance turned to her again 
and again, attracted by her slender neck and the 
charming contour of her shoulders,* so white and 
ample, and yet so delicate. And, with all this 
beauty and vivacity, there was so much genuine 
modesty, such excellent breeding, such unobtru- 
siveness; a combination, indeed, such as the 
most exacting, jealous and severe among men 
could hardly expect to find in one woman. 

And Werner, who was by no means all that, 
could not help saying to himself: “After all, 
there’s nobody like her in the world!” 'and he 
felt, for the moment, a strong impulse to be grate- 
ful for the blessing vouchsafed him to the exclu- 
sion of every other feeling. Ah, Heaven ! why 
— why was it that he had so often to search so 
painfully in his heart for that feeling of grati- 
tude, and extricate it from that dense black mel- 
ancholy in tvhich it would always persist in 
sinking again out of sight? 

Else was plunged deeply in a talk with Erica 
Sydow, evidently a very delightful, confidential 


234 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


talk, accompanied by much whispering and 
laughter. 

The two young women glanced merrily at him 
from the other end of the room, now and then. 
Erica was, at this moment, in the position of a 
grass widow. Her husband, who was still adju- 
tant to an illustrious personage, was with that no- 
tability on his travels, but was expected that day 
in Berlin, and had promised to come and fetch 
his young wife away from the dinner party in 
the course of the evening, if he could possibly 
manage to do so. Erica was very much in love, 
and Else never tired of teasing her about it in 
her sweet and tender fashion, to the great delight 
of both. 

The folding- doors were opened to admit guests ; 
first, the Prince and Princess Orbanoff, and, 
next time, Thilda. 

The princess gave Werner a glance which be- 
gan by expressing wrath, and shaded off into 
languorous reproach, and Thilda went straight 
up to him with the angry words: “So, you’ve 
been too busy again to-day, Werner! Of course, 
Else wouldn’t let you have a holiday.” She was 
in the highest dudgeon; for Werner had, in fact, 
omitted altogether to put in an appearance that 
day at the sitting for the portrait. At the last 
moment he had sent a dispatch excusing himself. 

They seated themselves at table. Werner had 
had the agreeable task of taking Erica Sydow in 
to dinner. At his left there was some great lady, 
with whom he was unacquainted, and whose 
specialty was that she had some sort of griev- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


235 


ance, genealogical or other, about the question 
of her right to be received at court. There is 
quite a category, or class, of ladies in that pre- 
dicament, and they entered into the number of 
the “remarkable objects’’ which people never 
saw anywhere except at Countess Warsberg’s. 
They were rarities which she generally brought 
back with her from her travels, together with 
other objects for her collection. 

This neighbor of Werner’s was a certain 
Countess Lenz; and he could not make out 
whether the beauty was a widow or a divorcee. 
But, whichever it was, the lady was highly 
dissatisfied with her lot. She heaved frequent 
sighs, and made frequent and melancholy allu- 
sion to the unhappy situation of unprotected 
women. And, before she had talked with him 
five minutes, she went off into a strain in which 
the abstract and the concrete, the philosophical 
and personal, were jumbled together in an aston- 
ishing manner. Werner knew the species well, 
and it had never been sympathetic to him, al- 
though he had honored it with some portion of 
his attention at some time. 

Old Countess Lenzdorff had, not long before, 
capitally described one of these ladies as a bundle 
of hysterical cravings, masked by small intel- 
lectual activities. They were all so terribly 
like one another with that regulation, pigeon- 
hole originality of theirs. 

Sharp and severe was that pronouncement of 
the old lady’s, like most of the things she said ; 
but it hit the mark fair and square. 


236 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


Werner turned away with a sense of relief 
from this querulous blue-stocking to Erica, in 
whom marriage had brought about a great alter- 
ation for the better. As a girl, she had been 
full of perversity, and never seemed to care 
whether she made her fellow-creatures miserable 
or not. But, with wifehood, she had developed 
into as sympathetic and amiable a creature as 
one would wish to meet. 

Right opposite to Werner, painfully opposite, 
was seated Princess Orbanoff, that same Count- 
ess Iwantschitsch whose acquaintance Werner 
had made in former days at Schlangenbad. She 
had on a rose-colored dress which persisted in 
coming down from her shoulders. She said very 
little, and ate very little, kept fanning herself 
throughout the whole course of the dinner, and 
launched occasional glances of tender reproach 
at Werner across the table. Her consort, upon 
whom the hostess had devolved the honor of tak- 
ing her in to dinner, favored her and each of her 
guests in turn with glances which can only 
properly be described as filled with suppressed 
fury. 

This couple, the male and female Orbanoff 
that is to say, got on as badly as possibly together, 
although — or, perhaps, because — the prince was 
still as much in love with his spouse as when he 
first met her ; and that was very much indeed. 
But, in spite of his passion, he was quite as dis- 
criminatingly severe in his estimate of her con- 
duct as the most jealous rival of her own sex 
could have been, and that is saying a good deal. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


237 


When he was with her in society he gave people 
the impression that something like this was go- 
ing on in his mind all the time. “I know per- 
fectly well what my wife is made of, and about 
all her ways, but I will not put up with other 
people knowing it too!” 

Old Countess Lenzdorff was there, of course, 
as lively and untiring as ever, busily occupied 
in spicing the conversation about her by scatter- 
ing over it judicious quantities of pepper and 
sait. 

Just about this time, the old countess was 
paying particular attention to a certain Prince 
Enzendorff, An extraordinarily handsome man 
this was, not quite forty years old, a southerner 
in appearance, with large black eyes, and a pe- 
culiar expression in them that seemed to betray 
a character cold and cautious, and keenly alive 
to every opportunity for the selfish gratification 
of passion. 

He was in the diplomatic service, so far as he 
could be said to have a profession at all ; but was 
at present unattached. He was of a proud, over- 
bearing temper, which was kept in order, how- 
ever, by tact and prudence. ' He was without a 
spark of high moral principle, but well practiced 
in the discipline of unmoral conduct ; fully capa- 
ble, therefore, of self-restraint when necessary. 
In short, he was a cynic to the marrow of his 
bones, and a gentleman from hat to boots. 

He frequented the most different and diverse 
circles of Berlin society. His views in political 
and social questions were severely conservative. 


238 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


and these he never for a moment concealed or 
allowed to be misapprehended ; but, for all that, 
he made a point of going wherever he had a 
chance of meeting clever men and pretty women. 
His politeness was perfect, and his unapproach- 
ableness likewise ; familiarity and condescension 
were equally absent from his bearing. Old 
Countess Lenzdorff had a sort of weakness for 
him. She was, just at this moment, having a 
very lively conversation with him about the 
founding of a projected institution for erring 
but repentant women, a theme which gave the 
old lady and younger man ample opportunity for 
witty and rather unscrupulous observations. 

At that table, also, was a sufficient representa- 
tion of the class of well-dressed, pretty women 
of distinction, and of courteous, high-bred gen- 
tlemen of assorted ages; these last either in 
uniform or evening-dress. Smooth, blameless 
creatures, these gentlemen, blameless from the 
point of view of the salon, at least, and affording 
no handle to criticism. These are the people, 
these pretty women and regulation men, whom 
one is never sorry to meet once, and whose very 
existence one forgets the day after ; who are as 
difficult to portray in full description as it is to 
paint a perfectly groomed, thoroughbred horse. 
They represent nothing but the upper ten ex- 
clusives; individuality of their own they have 
none whatever. 

The most decidedly remarkable item of the 
objects, animate and inanimate, at that table 
was Thilda. Her independent way of life, and 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


239 


the “Art” to which she now devoted it, had 
quite rejuvenated’ her, in spite of her forty years. 
She had, in the interval since we last saw her, 
added to her former merits all sorts of little 
provocative tricks of speech and manner indica- 
tive of a sense of superiority. But as she was 
just as lean and stiff as ever, stiff as a poker one 
might say, and as angular in her movements as 
a railway signal, the general effect was certainly 
not such as to enhance the seriousness of those 
who had the privilege of being with her. 

She now wore her hair cut close and frizzled ; 
her dress was pale-green, with Oriental, or Turk- 
ish, trimmings, pure Second Empire style, highly 
artistic indeed. In society she turned the “Art- 
ist” side of her complex being uppermost; on the 
other hand, when among artists, it was the “Aris- 
tocrat” whom she produced in the foreground. 

The person seated next to her was a young 
musician. His name was Oscar Ryder-Smythe, 
and he was an American. He was much more 
handsome than any man has a right to he, a 
perfect Antinous ; that is, if you go through the 
process, in your imagination, of transforming 
one of the pallid busts of the Antinous, of which 
we hate so many, by warming it into life and 
giving it the high color of a man bronzed by 
southern skies. His attitude toward the art 
which he professed was one of extreme conde- 
scension; he was fond, of speaking of his ances- 
tors, who were among the companions of William 
the Conqueror in early times, and, in later, part 
of the Pilgrim confpany of the Mayfloiver. And 


240 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


he was, in the bargain, particularly and amiably 
empresse in his attentions to Thilda ; and, as 
Werner seemed to perceive, to his annoyance, to 
those attentions Thilda was far from indifferent. 

The dinner was 'excellent, and the table was 
very prettily got up. Big pyramids of wax- 
lights, in old silver of Louis XYI. pattern, threw 
their subdued rose-blue shimmer upon the pro- 
fuse masses of flowers — which were so disposed 
as to be but a few inches above the tablecloth — 
upon the glittering crystal of the glasses, and 
upon the table services of Berlin porcelain which 
were decorated with variegated arabesques. 

Werner had much lively talk with Erica dur- 
ing the dinner, and while it was going on he 
heard, here and there about the table, mention 
made of a certain Countess Retz. So far as he 
could gather, this lady was at the moment occu- 
pying a large share of the attention of society. 
And Werner went out so little that he was com- 
paratively uninformed as to the last novelties, 
in persons or things, in fashionable circles. 

Retz — Retz ! It seemed to him that he must 
have heard the name before. As he thought the 
matter over, the memory of something which 
had long faded away into insignificance came 
up slowly again in his mind with ample form 
and color. He saw before him an aged man, 
bald, and with a long white beard. 

“I had hoped to have her here with us to-day,” 
said the lady of the house, “but she was pre- 
vented by an invitation from the empress.” 

“Does she go to court?” asked Countess Lenz. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


241 


“She had at first intended not to, but I per- 
suaded her that it was a thing she ought not to 
omit doing,” remarked Countess Lenzdorff. 

“I cannot understand how anybody can go to 
court, unless under some absolute obligation to 
do so,” observed Countess Leuz. 

“There are some circles in which reception at 
court implies the seal and stamp of social posi- 
tion,” replied Countess Lenzdorff. “Besides, 
you can really get quite as much fun out of the 
court as any reasonable person can require, if 
you know howto go about it.” 

. “Pray who is this Countess Retz?” asked the 
wife of a Russian diplomat, Countess Glinka. 
“One has been meeting her everywhere, for 
some time past. I should very much like to 
have a little trustworthy information about her. 
Is she all right? Who is she?” 

“She is the widow of Count Elnor Retz, who 
was the owner of that mansion in the Beeren 
Road,” said Countess Lenzdorff, dryly. 

“Old Retz, whom I met ten years ago at 
Vichy?” cried the Russian lady. 

“There was only one Count Retz, and this old 
gentleman was the last of the race.” 

“Why, he must have been at least a hundred 
years old when she married him!” said the 
Russian lady, in tones of horror. 

“Not exactly a hundred; seventy-six,” said 
Countess Lenzdorff, carelessly. 

“Such marriages as that ought to be forbidden 
by the police ; they ought to be prevented by 
government,” said Countess Lenz, sententiously. 


242 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“I wonder what people will not expect gov- 
ernment and Divine Providence to see to next!” 
sighed a minister of state, who had some orders 
on his breast, and was amply endowed with 
daughters, two of whom were of the company. 

‘‘And what was she before she married old 
Retz?” asked Countess Glinka, “a dancer, or a 
telegraph clerk? I suppose she had antecedents?” 

“Oh, pray! Gossip of that kind!” said Prin- 
cess Orbanoff, in protesting tones. “Whenever 
anybody says anything prejudicial to a lady’s 
reputation, I simply turn a deaf ear to it.” 

“Very courteous and judicious on your part, I 
must say,” growled the prince. “I take the 
opposite tack. And, when such things are 
said, believe them implicitly, and add fifty per 
- cent more of my own; but it doesn’t make any 
difference, after all. One has got to be a philos- 
opher.” 

Prince Orbanoff was one of those persons who 
blazon abroad their disbelief in the respectable 
conduct of any woman whatever. Perhaps he 
did it to console himself for his own want of 
luck in the selection he had made of one for 
himself. His princess, as we see, seemed to wish 
to make people think that, in her view, women 
ail round were nothing less than angels. She 
disbelieved on principle, we see, everything that 
was said against them. 

These little “games,” if we may so speak, 
are both of them quite useless now ; people see 
into them. But of the two, perhaps indulgent 
construction, simulated for effect, is a more mis- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


243 


chievous thing, for the dissimulator and every- 
body else, than indiscriminate censure. Really 
worthy women, at all events, resent the latter 
less than they do the almost willful blindness 
implied in the first. Such women need no in- 
dulgence or whitewashing for themselves, and 
they know that the “whitewashing” habit 
tends ruinously to break down altogether all 
moral distinctions and barriers. 

“Countess Retz is a person quite without a 
flaw; there is not a single point in her life 
which gives the slightest handle to the most 
unscrupulous tongue,” said Countess Lenzdorff, 
very positively. “Nobody can say a word 
against Lena, absolutely not one word.” 

“Except that when a girl of twenty-two she 
married an octogenarian, ” said Countess Lenz, 
acridly. 

“Considering the unhappy predicament the 
girl was in, everybody ought to approve and 
congratulate her for what she did!” exclaimed 
Countess Lenzdorff. “Besides, it was I who 
made the marriage.” 

These words were uttered amid the rustling 
of silk and noise of the chairs being pushed back 
as the guests rose from table. 


CHAPTER XXI. 

YfERNER rose from that dinner with a strange 
feeling of disturbance, even agitation. Who in 
the world could this mysterious Countess Retz 


244 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


be who had so suddenly taken hold of Berlin 
society, who was so much talked about, and 
whose name was Lena? Could it possibly 
be . . . oh, nonsense, nonsense! Cobwebs of 
his own brain! If it were so he would have 
heard of it long before. 

After the dinner several other guests arrived. 
The rooms began to fill. There was plenty of 
gossip, laughter, flirtations, to enliven the scene. 
Upon the whole, however, the evening was not 
such a success as was usual with Countess W ars- 
berg. The original programme of the occasion 
was not fulfilled, and something had to be done 
at the last moment to stop an unforeseen gap. 
The invitations had really been sent out in the 
expectation that Countess Retz would be there 
for people to say a word to, but the countess 
had not turned up. There was nothing left for 
the hostess and guests but “a little music.” 

Mr. Oscar Ryder- Smy the went to the grand 
piano and played the Tannhauser march, with 
variations and embroideries of his own, involv- 
ing great and obtrusive difficulties of technique. 
He played with fabulous smoothness and 
strength, and gave you the impression of some- 
thing between a man and a barrel-organ. 

The little public present was in no humor for 
music ; not a few among the guests made their 
escape from the music-room to the adjoining 
apartments. 

“I don’t know how it is, but ever since Ruben- 
stein retired from the concert platform I don’t 
take any interest whatever in pianoforte playing, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


245 


or players,” declared Countess Lenzdorff, in the 
aggressively audible whisper peculiar to old 
ladies who are growing a little hard of hearing. 
“I feel about these virtuosi of the instrument 
as the Shah of Persia declared he does about 
racehorses. ‘I know that one horse can run 
faster than another, and I don’t care a jot which 
one out of a number can do it. ’ That one vir- 
tuoso plays quicker than another virtuoso I 
know, but which — ” 

The only person present who seemed at all 
enthusiastic over the youthful American was 
Thilda, who had no more music in her than her 
own paint-box. She placed herself right in front 
of him, and jotted down his outlines in one posi- 
tion and another in a sketch-book. 

Else, buoyant and beautiful as always, was 
surrounded by a little cohort of worshiping young 
officers, a good many of whom were from Nas- 
sau, old acquaintances who were heartily de- 
lighted to see their dear old Queen Else again, 
and who knelt at her feet with most enthusiastic 
and innocent homage. 

Old Princess Lenzdorff entered into a lively 
and merry argument with Prince Enzendorff 
about moral concepts and definitions. The man 
knew all about morality, theoretical and practi- 
cal, perfectly well; accomplished cynics always 
do — none better. Your men of ideas are always 
raising doubts and difficulties about this, that or 
the other obligation. The cynic sees his way 
quite clearly, where the idealist stumbles, in 
these matters. 


246 CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 

Countess Lenzdorff was one with him in opin- 
ion, in the main; but she thought his views 
were a trifle more imbued with sentiment than 
need be for one of his mode of thinking. 

Countess Lenz had taken a sort of dislike to 
Werner, who, on his part, was quite fond of 
Erica. He would much have preferred to con- 
tinue his conversation with the latter after they 
had left the dining-room, but she was, for the 
moment, taken possession of by another person, 
Werner’s cousin, Goswyn. He had got through 
with his adjutant duty for the evening, and, ac- 
cording to promise, made his appearance at 
Countess Warsberg’s to take away his young 
wife. 

The two were standing together by the red 
marble mantel, in the hall leading to the rooms. 
Goswyn had become slightly bald in these last 
years, and was stouter than before; but he was 
just as handsome and distinguished as ever, and 
Erica looked up to him with a quite pathetic 
affectionate ness. 

Without exactly knowing how it came about, 
W erner found himself seated alone with Princess 
Orbanoff on a sofa in the small room hung with 
amber-colored velveteen, which adjoined the 
mnsic-room. 

The intoxicating sounds of Siegmund’s and 
Sieglinde’s love-song came heavily upon him. 
Besides this he had, as best he could, to listen to 
the Croatian lady’s jeremiads about the feelings 
of a sensitive woman mated to a man who could 
not understand her, and what a sad thing' it was 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


247 


to be obliged to marry a rich man without any 
inclination for him, when you were the very 
woman made, if any ever was, to marry a poor 
man under the dictates of exalted love. 

“Then, why didn’t you do it?” he asked, at 
last, almost losing patience. He had heard this 
sort of thing so often from her before. 

“Why?” — she leaned back a little, and put her 
full, white arm round her neck — “why?” she 
murmured, blinking at him significantly. “That 
question from you /” 

There was no help for it. He could not avoid 
letting his eyes sink into the depths of hers. 
And then a strange feeling shot through him. 
In his view, she was nothing better than a wo- 
man without taste, reserve — a creature scarcely 
to be taken seriously ; but, for all that, he had 
the same sensation, just then, he had experi- 
enced on that balcony at Schlangenbad, as though 
he had taken some narcotic, composing and also 
pleasantly stimulating; and all his sensibilities, 
bodily and mental, were quickened for more 
active operation. 

“How well he plays!” said she, sinking her 
eyes slowly before his searching glance, and 
turning her head a little, in the direction of the 
music-room. “Do you know what these impas- 
sioned sounds have put in my head? Some old 
verses of a poet of my country. Listen : 

“Ah, let us fly to distant, distant lands, 

Despising the cold world’s reproving cries, 

Spurning its thoughts, which only weaklings prize, 

Across broad seas to brighter, safer strands ! 


248 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


There, wandering where the Sun alone commands, 

And light of highest freedom bathes the eye3, 

Two souls in one, let us appease our sighs, 

And dash to earth our bravely broken — ” 

Her voice was deep and rich. She spoke in 
low tones. It was a comedy, certainly, it was 
only pose, that she was playing and making for 
his benefit; but, at all events, she played her 
part like an actress, throwing herself altogether 
into her part. 

When she began to repeat this poem, he felt 
as if he could hardly restrain his laughter; then, 
suddenly, he felt himself grow hot and cold. 
And then! . . . What was that? What was 
the meaning of that voice here? 

Was he here, in the Countess Warsberg’s 
house; or was he far, far away? The superb 
woman at his side vanished from his ken, as 
though the place she sat in was empty space; 
the oppression just now on his chest left him at 
once. More than seven years of his life disap- 
peared ; he heard the roaring of a mighty river ; 
the gold of a certain sunset came dazzling his 
eyes as though he were on the never-to-be-for- 
gotten scene again. 

But was it really the same voice? It did not 
sound so deep, it had not the boyish rawness 
which he had known. It sounded, in the main, 
much softer, much more sweetly insinuating 
than in the earlier day ; but in this its maturity 
of womanly beauty, as in its earlier stage of boy- 
like roughness, there was something in it that 
jarred, though it could not. displease. There 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


249 


was, amid all its melody, something of that ele- 
mental discord which attaches to all that is most 
lovely pn this earth of ours ; that discord which 
can never be resolved ; which leaves us here al- 
ways dissatisfied, always yearning for something 
more and beyond, and stamps upon us the im- 
pression of a mystery that makes us appeal 
unceasingly from the insufficiency of earth to 
the omnipotence of Heaven for its solution. 

Could there really be two such voices in this 
world? 

But Princess Orbanoff, all the same, was by 
his side, and she went on : 

“And dash to earth our bravety broken bands.” 

Then came the wonderful couplet : 

“In Afric wastes, where, through the rocky steeps, 
Untamed and wild, the foaming cataract sweeps.” 

In the background of all the confused mass of 
sounds about him, the impassioned love-music 
of Siegmund was tearing at his nerves; but 
amid it all, quite close to his ear, he heard again 
that peculiar voice which he identified with his 
Spirit of the Waters. He looked up. In the 
doorway stood Else, and, by her side, embracing 
him and the Croatian in one comprehensive 
glance, full of light and mockery, stood — that 
Spirit herself! 

‘ ‘Ah! there you are, Werner!” said Else. 
“I’ve been looking for you. You know, I always 
think of you first of all when something very de- 
lightful happens; I never can rest till you share 
my enjoyment!” 


250 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


He had risen at once, when he saw them, and 
advanced to the two young women. 

“Only think of it! Whom should I come 
across here, but my Lena, my vanished Lena! 
Here she is, her. own, real, living self!” And 
then, suddenly assuming a formal, ceremonious 
manner and voice: “My husband — Countess 
Retz.” 

Countess Retz ! Countess Retz !' It went through 
him like a dagger-stroke. This, then, was what 
his Spirit of the Waters, with her serious, heavy- 
laden soul, had come to ! She had sold her youth 
and beauty to an aged man. Sad, sad indeed ! 
But whatever may have been the motive, neces- 
sary or not, the framework which she had chosen, 
or acquired, to set her beauty in was one that 
became it most wonderfully. 

She had on a white dress which had a long 
train, and was fairly loaded with lace; she had 
glittering diamond sprays in her hair, on her 
shoulders, on her bosom, and seven rows of pearls 
round her neck. The splendor was great, but it 
made W erner feel as if he were going to choke. 
It suddenly extinguished in him, never again to 
revive, as he fancied, a memory which had al- 
ways been sweet and dear. 

He felt that it would be a great satisfaction if 
he could tear away all that garish splendor of 
diamonds and lace, and have her once again be- 
fore him in that poor, dripping, cheap little dress, 
pale, melancholy, all alive with youthful spirit 
and fire, however depressed for the time by ad- 
verse circumstance, and so pathetically helpless! 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


251 


But, even more than by the brilliancy of her 
costume and adornments, was he disturbed by 
the brilliancy in her eyes. Never in his life had 
he seen eyes of such inexorable clearness, eyes 
which seemed endowed with such ability to 
sweep aside all agreeable ambiguities or equivo- 
cations. There were some women’s eyes which 
seemed to flash sometimes with fire ; Lena’s eyes 
seemed to fill the space they gazed at with light. 
There was something in them which absolutely 
humiliated him. 

“My husband — Countess Retz.” 

He bowed. He saw directly that she had rec- 
ognized him. Will she ignore that episode in 
their lives? he asked himself, or . . . 

She hesitated for a very brief moment; then 
she held out her hand to him, coldly and indiffer- 
ently. 

“Oh! we’ve had the pleasure of making each 
other’s acquaintance before this,” said she. 

“Where — when — how did you become ac- 
quainted?” asked Else, whose curiosity was 
naturally excited, in her warm, hearty way. 

“ ‘Making acquaintance’ is not exactly the 
word,” explained Countess Retz. “We hap- 
pened to meet one another once, quite casually. 
Baron von Schlitzing once prevented me getting 
into a wrong train, that is all.” 

He had, while she said the words, a quite dis- 
tinct and sure feeling that the meeting with him 
operated in her to dispel an illusion ; but he felt 
quite as distinctly that this illusion had been, 
up to that moment, a cherished subject of her 


252 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


fancy, and that the memory of that little romantic 
episode on the Rhine banks had played as great 
a part in her thoughts as in his own. 

Princess Orbanoff’s bosom rose and sank in 
all its majesty. She saw that the wind was ad- 
verse, and that, for the moment, she could make 
no way; and she withdrew, accordingly, into 
the music-room, The other three remained alone 
in' the little chamber. 

Lena had turned away almost roughly from 
Werner, and to Else. “Oh! how delighted I 
am! No, you’ve no idea of it!” she repeated 
again and again. “How delighted I am, my 
little Else, my sweet little Else! You are even 
prettier than you used to be, much prettier ! And 
you’ve been married seven years — seven years, 
is it? And you really have three babies? When 
can I come to see them with my own eyes? 

4 4 Oh, whenever you like ! I am nearly always 
at home; only, don’t come between three and 
four; I always take the children out walking 
then.” 

“Listen, Else; I’ve a splendid idea! Will you 
bring the children to see me, to-morrow morn- 
ing, mind, not later. And I’ll be there with no 
end of candy and cakes. They must be enchant- 
ing, your babies, if they resemble you! Are 
they like you?” 

“The two eldest are like me; the youngest is 
like my husband, and she is much the prettiest.” 

“Oh! of course, you think so!” laughed Lena. 
Then, in her old, impulsive way, she took her 
friend by both shoulders and kissed her. “It’s 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


253 


altogether too delightful to have found you again 
like this !” 

“But why didn’t you let me know anything 
about yourself all this time, not a word, if you 
really did long to see me again?” asked Else, 
now. “I wrote to you three times after I was 
married, and never had an answer. I fretted 
about it a good deal, and then — ” 

“Then — you forgot me!” said Lena, with a 
sigh, but half laughing at the same time. 

“Oh, dear me! what would you have?” Else 
shrugged her shoulders. “When once you’re 
married, you’ve such a terrible lot to do and to 
think about. But I’m quite as much delighted at 
our meeting as you are, indeed I am. It seems 
only yesterday since we sat together in your big, 
bare room at Eltville. Do you remember when 
X first told you all about my husband?” 

“Oh, yes, I remember!” replied Lena. “Has 
he kept on justifying the good opinion which 
you had of him then? But — take care how you 
answer that ! I quite forget ; he’s close behind 
us.” Lena’s voice hardened as she said this, 
throwing a glance over her shoulder to W erner. 
There was something in her look at once slight- 
ing and provocative. 

The glance she gave him was the reverse of 
pleasant to him; everything about her was dis- 
pleasing to him, just then. 

But Else replied, in heartfelt tones: “I never 
need fear my husband’s overhearing a single 
word I have to say.” She laid her hand tenderly 


254 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


on his arm. “I have nothing to say about him 
which could be anything but a source of joy to 
him. Isn’t it true, old man? One must have 
known you as long as I have done, in order to 
appreciate you at your full value. Why do you 
suddenly turn your back upon us like that, 
Lena?” 

“I fancied you might be wanting to give your 
husband a kiss ; you looked exactly like it. ’ ’ 

‘ ‘ I had no such horrible purpose, I assure you ! ’ ’ 
laughed Else. “But will you please mention 
any reason why I should not? And, after all, if 
you think I’m going to let myself be hindered 
by an old friend like you, you’re much mistaken. 
You can look as much as you like!” Here Else 
put her hands upon her husband’s shoulders, and, 
drawing him down to her, gave him as hearty 
a kiss as if there was nobody there at all. Then 
she looked up to Lena. “Oh! what dark, gloomy 
eyes! and you’re red all over, I declare! I have 
shocked you, I suppose. What a child you are? 
Oh ! how glad I should be, how glad, to see you 
married and happy ! If you were only cut out a 
little more after the ordinary pattern, you’d be 
quite the nicest woman in the whole world!” 

“Adieu, Else ! I really must go, ” replied Lena, 
hastily; “my carriage is waiting. I really only 
stepped in for a moment. There are two large 
parties yet that I must go to for a while. I only 
came in because Count Linden told me that 
you were here, and I wanted to see whether 
any of your old affection was left. Adieu, dear 
angel! and be sure and mind to bring me the 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


255 


children to-morrow, for the candy and cakes and 
whipped cream.” 

“Yes, yes; certainly! Adieu! Do take her 
to her carriage, Werner, and see that she’s com- 
fortable. She’s one of those who never take any 
care for themselves at all!” cried Else. 

He escorted the young woman out. After he 
had put her cloak on her shoulders, a gray velvet 
cloak with white fur trimmings, she turned and 
looked at him. “A truly comical thing is this 
life of ours, don’t you think?” she said. “What 
a meeting! Would you have recognized me?” 

‘ 1 Everywhere ! And” — he asked, rather shyly 
and hesitatingly — “and you me?” 

“I you?” She raised her eyebrows to her 
forehead. “Perhaps; I’m not quite sure. It’s 
quite certain that, as I see you now, you’re a 
quite different being from the one I had in my 
memory.” She began to laugh. 

He had never heard laughter so strange, 
laughter full of spirit and life, clear as crystal, 
but with the same sad, discordant note in it 
which was heard in her speaking voice, and 
which — it struck him suddenly and forcibly — 
seemed to pervade her whole being. 

“We have both traveled over a long stretch of 
country, and both come to a destination that has 
very little reference to the romance of the start- 
ing point. But I have nothing but congratula- 
tions for you, Baron Schlitzing!” Cutting 
mockery, and some personal irritation, too, 
were distinctly traceable in her words. “The 


256 CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 

lines seem to have fallen in very pleasant places 
for you, indeed, baron.” 

“As pleasant as they can be, for a man who 
hasn’t a thing in the world to do,” he mur- 
mured. 

“You don’t mean to say that you expect people 
to pity you for that? It was well in your power 
to have molded your life to different conditions, 
I suppose. Or, was it not?” 

She lifted her brows as high as she could, as 
she asked the question. And then, before he 
could bring out a word, she raised her train 
from the ground with an indescribable move- 
ment of quick grace, and hurried down the small 
stairway, which was covered with green carpet, 
to her carriage. 

The night was getting far advanced, and he 
heard the rubber wheels rolling off quickly along 
the silent road. Rubber wheels, indeed! Her 
whole life now went along smoothly, without 
any of the frictions of grief or want of any kind ; 
on rubber wheels, it might be said ! And, for 
this she had paid the price which all the world 
knew and talked about! And, yet, she — the 
beautiful young widow of the aged Count Retz’ 
• — she took it upon herself to treat him, Werner 
Schlitzing, slightingly, contemptuously, almost! 


CHAPTER XXII. 


“Well, that’s my Lena! What have you 
got to say about her, I should like to know?” 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


257 


cried Else, when he came back to her. She 
was now standing by the young Sydow pair, 
in front of the red marble mantel in the hall. 
.“Isn’t she lovely? How well she suits that 
splendid jewelry, that splendid dress! Isn’t 
she just enchanting?” 

“If you want to know how she strikes me, 
I’ll tell you: she’s uncanny,” replied Werner, 
brusquely. 

“Well, that was the way she impressed me, 
too, at first,” said Goswyn Sydow. “The first 
evening I spent with her I felt all the time as if 
I was eating green apples and having splendid 
fireworks let off right in my eyes. She uttered 
such lots of witty speeches that it made one’s 
head swim; and she seemed to see everything 
upside down, one paradox after another. I 
couldn’t help liking her to a frisky mare which 
you caa’t get into a regular pace, and which will 
persist in its irregular gambols. But it seemed to 
me a fine noble sort of mare, for all that. And I 
must say I couldn’t resist a sort of wish to have 
the taming and training of her. She’d be very 
^ine if all the tricks were driven out of her, and 
she were made to trot and canter like a properly 
brought up creature.” 

“Goswyn!” cried Erica, opening her large 
eyes wide with an expression of merry menace 
on her young face. 

“What’s the matter, my angel?” 

“You’re thinking too much altogether about 
this uncanny Lena. I won’t put up with it.” 

“Are you jealous?” asked Else. 


258 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“I? Abominably!” Erica confessed, half 
laughing and half put out. 

“Like all women who haven’t the least reason 
for it,” said Goswyn, good humoredly. 

“And you, Else?” asked Erica. 

“I’m not jealous, not the very least,” declared 
Else. 

“My own sweet, faithful heart of gold,” 
murmured Werner — almost inaudibly — a little 
ashamed. 

“Grandmamma is quite in love with Lena,” 
continued Erica; “and as she’s just as much in 
love with me, everybody knows that she will 
have it that Lena and I are kindred natures. 
Lena, she insists, reminds her of what I was as 
a girl; before you had come to drive the tricks 
out of the little racing mare, Goswyn. Do you 
see any resemblance?” 

Goswyn wrinkled his brows reflectively. “Re- 
semblance in the characters of the two of you? 
Well, if there is any resemblance at all it is due 
t > the fact that you and she alike grew up from 
girlhood to womanhood in circumstances which 
kept you unhappy. But— but, my angel, your 
circumstances were not absolutely abnormal; it 
was quite different. And, then, your parents 
were most worthy, high-toned people. And that 
sort of thing puts a stamp on a child’s life which 
is never effaced. There’s no doubt about this, 
my Erica. You certainly were a most funny, 
exaggerated, all but silly little thing; but under- 
neath your high-flying, half-cranky ways there 
was always quite a good bit of dry, hard com- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


259 


mon sense concealed about your person. So you 
were all right. But as to Lena Betz!” he shook 
his head; “with her it’s just the other way 
round. The uppermost side of her is all ration- 
ality, what I call frightful rationality, in all her 
opinions and actions. But I can’t help thinking 
that what she has concealed about her person is 
a dangerously reckless temperament, which only 
requires seme impulse from without to break 
out with fire and fury. Her intelligence is as 
clear as crystal; but I don’t think it will serve 
her much, except to make whatever monstrosi- 
ties she will probably commit so perfectly de- 
finable to herself that she will be the less 
excusable.” 

“Goswyn, Goswyn, no woman that I know 
of ever before put into your head such a deal 
of philosophical analysis as all that!” cried 
Erica, shaking her head. 

“Can’t deny it. She is an interesting mon- 
ster!” said Goswyn, teasingly. 

“I’ll make her just as much attached to me 
as I possibly can, that’s all that I know,” de- 
clared Erica, and then shaking her forefinger 
menacingly at her young husband, she said to 
him in a deep, tragic voice: “You! you!” 

“Oh, it’s all very well pretending, Erica; you 
are jealous, not a doubt of it!” laughed Else. 

“Not a doubt of it!” said Erica, frowning 
heavily. “I won’t deny it: it vexes me hor- 
ribly when I see him thinking more busily about 
anybody than he does about me. But if you 
fancy that I am at all afraid of his falling in 


260 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


love with Lena, you’re quite wrong, Else. He’s 
much too rational a fellow for that. In fact, 
he’s the most horribly rational fellow in this 
world.” 

“Unfortunately I have too often too much 
need of being so,” observed Goswyn, signifi- 
cantly, stroking his young wife’s head lightly. 

They heard old Countess Lenzdorff’s voice 
from the other corner of the hall. “Morality! 
morality! I don’t think you take a sufficiently 
plain and commonsense view of the question, 
Enzendorff. Morality is simply nothing more 
than a compromise, enforced by society, between 
the two extremes of self-sacrifice and self-love, 
between the softness and hardness of our human 
nature.” 

“Well. Now we know all about it!” ex- 
claimed Goswyn. It was as much as he could 
do not to burst out laughing; his dazzling whito 
teeth shone merrily out from his clear blonde 
mustache. 

“Grandmamma is horrible!” said Erica, with 
vexation. “She’s enough to put any one out of 
conceit with morality altogether. I know she 
very nearly succeeded in doing so with me. 
You want to believe that morality is some- 
thing that has some beauty in it, and she’s 
always insisting and proving that it’s nothing 
more than a simple, dry, practical, useful thing.” 

“I think that the best opinion lies just in the 
middle between the two extremes; at least, that 
was the view taken by that prudent professor 
when somebody demanded of him pointblank 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


261 


whether there was a God, yes or no,” said 
Goswyn, humorously. “Anyway, Enzendorff 
must have been cursing grandmamma by his 
gods to-night, I fancy, well as he gets along 
with her usually. He was staring his eyes out 
at Lena Retz all the time she was here, but 
couldn’t shake off the old woman.” 

“Is Enzendorff really paying his addresses to 
Lena?” asked Else, with much excitement in 
her sparkling eyes. 

“I wonder who isn’t doing so just now, more 
or less,” said Goswyn, shrugging his shoulders. 
“But as to Enzendorff, his infatuation is the 
talk of pretty nearly all Europe. He followed 
her up from Constantinople to Paris, and from 
Paris here.” 

“What do you say to that, Werner? She’ll 
be Princess Enzendorff next, my Lena!” cried 
Else. 

“Princess Enzendorff! That’s not settled 
yet by any manner of means,” observed G:>s- 
wyn. “ I don’t think Enzendorff has got 
marriage in his head, up to the present date, 
anyhow.” 

“Then what has he got in his head?” asked 
Else, innocentty. 

Wefner and Goswyn looked at one another 
and laughed. Then Werner tapped his wife’s 
shoulder lightly and said : “There you are, put- 
ting your dear little foot deep in it again !” 

“Oh, how could I think, all at once, that any 
one meant such horrible things?” said Else, in 
deep vexation, with all her blood shot in her 


262 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


face. “Detestable gossip! It spoils all my 
pleasure in meeting Lena again.” 

“You must have misunderstood me, Else,” 
interrupted Goswyn. “Nobody has a word to 
say against Lena Retz; all Europe is quite 
convinced that Enzendorff has, so far, made 
no way with her at all.” 

“Made no way with her ! Ugh! Do you ex- 
pect me to be less annoyed because you say 
that?” said Else, in great exasperation. “I 
think it’s just as hateful to let a man make 
up to her if it’s quite clear that he doesn’t 
mean marriage.” 

“Perhaps she expects to have her own way 
after all with Enzendorff, and that she’ll rise 
winner from the game,” said Goswyn, reflec- 
tively. “I really don’t know; the woman is 
more than I can fathom.” 

“Well, for my part I breathe more freely,” 
said Erica, humorously. “She can’t be a very 
nice person, after all, considering the stories 
you tell about her. So I’m not afraid for you, 
Goswyn. If it’s as you say, she must be a 
cold, self-seeking creature.” 

“Cold she certainly is not,” replied Goswyn. 
“But as to self-seeking, why all intellectual 
women with unsatisfied hearts always are that, 
or, to say the least, devoured by ambition. If 
I know the woman at all, I am sure that she 
would face starvation gladly for any man that 
she really loved. But if such a one is not forth- 
coming, why then she would make a point of 
making her solitary or desolate life as brilliant 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


263 


in its furnishings as possible. Ambition is al- 
ways only a kind of despair with women.” 

44 1 can’t understand all that one bit,” said 
Else. 44 I’m very, very fond of Lena, and when 
anything bad is imputed to any one I really do 
love, my first impulse is to be quite severe with 
them. Then, the next moment I comfort my- 
self with the idea that there must be some mis- 
understanding, and that what seems bad may 
turn out quite good after all. I must study 
Lena a little more, and then I’ll give you my 
verdict about her. And, now, good-night, chil- 
dren! It has been a very nice evening, but I 
can’t keep my eyes open, I really can’t, any 
longer. Come home, Werner.” 

44 1 really think it’s quite time we went home, 
too,” said G-oswyn, looking at their retreating 
forms; “especially considering the care which 
we ought to take of you just now. But grand- 
mamma doesn’t seem to have come to anything 
like an end with her preachings. And as she’s 
going to drive us home—” 

4 4 Oh! suppose we take a cab and drive off 
alone?” whispered Erica, with the air of a school- 
boy intending some stroke of insubordination. 

He blinked merrily at her. “Yes, suppose we 
make a strike for freedom!” he replied. 

But grandmamma’s preaching came to an end 
exactly then. She sailed up to Erica, Enzen- 
dorff following, and the latter said: 4 4 How 
charming that little Schlitzing looked again 
to-night. A regular jewel of a woman!” 

“Yes, yes; it was I brought the two together !” 


264 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


said Countess Warsberg, who never lost an op- 
portunity of glorifying herself for that exploit. 
“A model couple, indeed, quite a model couple!” 

“Yes,” said Countess Lenzdorff, whomever 
lost an opportunity of blowing anybody’s illu- 
sions out of the water, especially if the owner of 
them was somebody she disliked. “Yes, a model 
couple, consisting of two persons who have 
spoiled one another’s lives. It has always been 
a mystery to me how two such fine creatures as 
Else and Werner could do each other such a fatal 
injury as to marry!” 

****** ** 

“What’s the matter with you, Werner? Your 
eyes look like troubled water, after somebody has 
thrown a stone in it!” 

It was the day after Countess Warsberg’s din- 
ner that Else so addressed her husband. There 
could be no mistake about what she said. He 
certainly did give the impression of a man extra- 
ordinarily out of tune. He had scarcely touched 
food the whole day; and his morning had been 
spent in rummaging his papers at his writing- 
table, getting together all his preliminary mate- 
rials for his history of the “War of Liberation,” 
which had taken him such time and labor to 
write, and consigning the whole mass ruthlessly 
to the flames. 

“I’m not quite myself to-day,” he murmured, 
without looking at Else. 

“Did Lena do anything to vex you?” asked 
Else, in some anxiety. “Didn’t she say some- 
thing disagreeable when you took her to the 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


865 


carriage last night? You looked so put out 
when you came back.” 

“How in the world should I care what Count- 
ess Retz says or does?” he said, somewhat 
roughly. 

“Oh! that’s all very well! but I was afraid 
from the first that you would not get on together 
at all,” murmured Else, in low tones. 

“And I don’t see any reason why we should 
get on together at all,” replied Werner, with a 
shrug of the shoulders. “But don’t be alarmed. 
I shall always be quite as polite as need be to 
any one whom you wish to visit us, until, or 
unless, I have something quite serious to bring 
against them.” 

“Oh! that’s not enough for me!” said Else, 
shaking her head quite seriously. She looked 
very sweet just then, the very perfection of a lit- 
tle housewife and matron. She had taken a 
slight chill at the dinner, and had on a little 
dark-colored open jacket over her frock, and a 
little pale-blue silk kerchief round her neck; she 
shivered and coughed every now and then. Her 
husband was really anxious about her; and, in 
consequence — perhaps, too, because, in his dis- 
turbed state of mind, it was a comfort to sun 
himself a little in her sympathy — particularly 
tender with her. 

“Indeed! That’s not enough for you, isn’t 
it?” said he jestingly, and stroking her hands. 
“Really not?” 

“No, not the least!” replied Else. “It might 
all have been so sweet and delightful, so very 


266 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


sweet! Only think! I’ve heard such things to- 
day ! If that horrible Enzendorff is making up 
to Lena without an honest purpose — ugh! to 
think of such a thing ! How ugly ! how hateful ! 
— there’s somebody else who is courting her with 
the most seribus purpose in the world. It’s Lin- 
den! What do you say to that? He has given 
me up altogether, the faithless creature ! What 
do you say to that?” 

She repeated this question with such a droll 
affectation of importance, that Werner, moody 
as he was, could not help breaking into a laugh. 

“What do I say to that?” replied he. “Why, 
that such a perfectly good little woman as you 
are must make up her mind to lose all her adorers 
sooner or later ; for the race of the Toggenburg 
vanished from this earth together with their 
childless ancestor.” 

“Oh! what a jumble of nonsense you arc talk- 
ing— you and ycur childless ancestor ! ’ ’ said Else, 
rapping his knuckles. “But don’t you see what 
I mean? You do, you surely must. Just think 
how delightful it would all be if such a thing 
happened! There Linden’s property, Bingen- 
heim, you know— such a beautiful place!— and 
leased now ; and there it is, marching with Kru- 
genberg. Why, that was the principal reason 
why all Nassau would insist upon marrying 
Linden and me!” 

“I know, I know! To think of all I’ve de- 
prived you of! Poor Else!” sighed Werner. 

“Oh, you!” she cried, drawing him to her 
and giving him a kiss. “If you only knew— oh, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


267 


well! it’s just as well you don’t know — all that 
goes on in my heart, sir, or else there’d be no 
holding you at all. But do just think ! If Lena 
marries Linden, he’ll give up his commission; 
he’ll retire to Bingenheim; and then what de- 
lightful neighbors we shall be ! It has given me 
no end of delight to think it all out ; but if you 
don’t get on with Lena the whole thing will be 
spoiled, quite!” 

“Well, the two are not married yet,” said 
Werner, with a rough edge on his voice. 

“Don’t you think she’ll have Linden?” said 
Else, very seriously. 

“That’s a point upon which I can’t enlighten 
you at all,” said Werner. “What he has to offer 
her wouldn’t be enough to satisfy her devilish 
ambition, decidedly not. And whether he’s the 
mysterious man for whom, if Goswyn is right, 
she would be ready to go without fuel and food, 
seems to me, to say the least, questionable. ’ ’ 

4 4 What a hateful tone you speak about her in ! ” 
sighed Else. 4 4 I’m quite sure she vexed you 
about something. And there was I going to 
entreat you to take the children to her instead 
of my doing it, as I’ve taken such a cold that 
I really ought not to go out.” 

4 4 Well, but I really must ask you to excuse 
me, ’ ’ replied W erner. 4 4 W rite her a line or two, 
and I’ll leave it with the porter at the hotel. I 
want to go out and smoke a cigar in the park, 
anyway.” 

“That’s all right!” Else withdrew to write 
.the note. She gave it to him sealed. 4 4 You’ve 


268 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


no objection to hand it in sealed like that, and 
you don’t want to know what’s in it?” she 
asked, with a roguish smile. 

“Not the least,” he assured her; then, giving 
her a kiss, he enjoined her to have some hot tea 
at once, to take the best of care of herself, and 
he left her. 

After he had handed in the note at the Count- 
ess Lena’s hotel, he turned back into the Belle- 
vue Street, in the direction of the park. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

There was a thaw on. Thick drops fell from 
the chestnut-trees in the Bellevue Street. The 
Column of Victory stood out in all its grandiose 
tastelessness against the background of a deep 
gray sky. 

Werner’s thoughts went back to the victories 
and battles which the column recorded, and in 
which he had fought his part. The summer and 
autumn of the never-to-be-forgotten year 1870 
came vividly up in his mind again ; and, above 
all, the labors and dangers connected with that 
beleaguerment of Paris, when they were nearly 
all the time under fire. Life was a thing full of 
significance, importance, value to him then ; yet, 
for all that, never was there one moment when 
he would then have swerved an inch to avoid 
death. Life, now, was very little more than a 
burden to him, mere vanity and vexation of 
spirit ; and yet, as often as not, he caught him- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


269 


self in the very act of being afraid lest he might 
catch a cold ! 

Good Heavens ! How far he had gone on the 
downward track, how very far ! What was he 
now? A moody hypochondriac, or very like it; 
yea, a Philistine! And the Future? Nothing 
there except one long, long day after another, 
each adorned with a more or less good dinner — 
Sundays, in fact, every one of them — and what 
Sundays ! He felt all the time the kind of fatigue 
which a thoroughly healthy man gets from stay- 
ing too long in bed, or being obliged to remain 
in bed, by medical order, when there’s nothing 
really the matter with him. 

Plenty of people drove past him in high spirits, 
clearly enjoying their lives; pretty women in 
open victorias, nicely wrapped in furs, and with 
faces reddened by the fresh air ; a few young 
officers in an open carriage. Well, these people 
didn’t seem dedicated at their birth to a lot of 
strenuous labors and activities ; but at least they 
knew how to get some amusement out of life, 
while he — ! He turned from the Bellevue Alley 
into the park. 

The network of the branches of the leafless 
trees, with its reddish or violet-tinged hues, 
showed sharp against the gray sky; a sweetish 
odor of decaying leaves rose from the ground ; 
and the green grass-blades stretched up their 
long fingers amid the leaves. Every here and 
there a group of gloomy firs and pines arrested 
the eye in contrast with the reddish-brown or 
violet- gray of the deciduous trees. The water 


270 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


in the little lakes was troubled and muddy, 
and the dull afternoon light, reflected in them, 
showed itself ashen gray. 

There was scarcely a soul but himself walking 
in the park, and only a few carriages rattled by 
now and then. He went on till he reached the 
river, the Spree. 

A sort of mad longing seized him to spring, 
just as he was, into the water; not for the pur- 
pose of drowning himself ; nothing of the kind. 
He was not come to that. No, it was only that 
he longed to have a refreshing cold plunge to 
restore activity to his blood, and a good swim to 
quicken his languid limbs. Then he smiled at 
the extravagant idea ; he took a good look at the 
water, and shrugged his shoulders. Much good 
would it do him to splash about in that thick 
brown water, which had got all the filth of the 
big city mixed up in it and was carrying it down 
to spoil other waters. And then, with startling 
suddenness, as if some formula of incantation 
brought it up, there shot into his brain the 
thought of — Rhine, the broad, clear, steel-gray 
Rhine* shining with cool brilliancy under the 
sunlight, traveling on with its majestic sounds. 
It was Eltville; and he felt again the warm, 
perfumed breath of that August night, saw the 
fairy -like mist of silver which seemed to efface 
the mere soil and earth altogether, and to lift the 
whole little town into the midst of lovely, shim- 
mering clouds. 

Ah! how beautiful, how wonderful was life 
then! And now . . . 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


271 


A hearse, used in Hebrew funerals, drove 
along the park road by him ; black it was, with- 
out a trace of other color, and without inscrip- 
tion, mark or sign to relieve its gloom, and with 
a covering cloth that reached to the ground, till 
the whole thing looked like a gigantic raven 
dragging its wings along the ground. 

The twilight deepened ; all the objects about 
him looked paltry, dirty ; and a desolating damp- 
ness seemed to spread itself over everything and 
everybody. 

Yes, Rhine was far off, very far off; and Lena 
Retz despised him! 

Then, in the sudden swift changes of his 
thought, it seemed as though a pale, reproving 
specter rose up in front of him, the ghost of his 
youth — his youth, with its Ideals and Dreams, its 
restless striving toward the Unattainable and the 
Highest — his youth, to which he had turned 
traitor, which he had sold to and buried under 
mere luxury and comfort wherein he could take 
no delight whatever ! 

Ah! where had it all vanished to? That en- 
thusiasm and vivacity of his soul ; that firm faith 
in the exalted destiny of his kind ; that hope 
which sprang up fresh, new, strong with each 
dawn; that power of flight of the soul which 
no illusions could lame, yea which seemed to 
increase in force with the increase of obstacles; 
that optimism which seemed actually to flourish 
in the soil of his melancholy and romance ; where, 
where had these all gone? where all that bril- 
liancy of the sunrise of his so rarely privileged 


272 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS, 


youth? Aye! that sun of his youthful years 
ought now, that same glorious sun, to be shining 
high in the skies of his maturity and his man- 
hood, even if it could never have but once the 
veiled, golden, suggestive beauty of its earliest 
morning prime. But where was that sun? He 
saw it not; saw nothing but fog, clouds, half 
darkness; and his spirit sank under what he saw. 

And the worst of it all was that it was so diffi- 
cult to lay hold of anything, special and tangi- 
ble, to complain of in the life he had made for 
himself. It was a diffused and general disease^ 
without particular symptoms. It was this : that 
prosperity and riches had fallen into his lap, and 
he had never labored to get the appetite, and 
only labor could give it, which would have made 
all those good things enjoyable. 

The German man is a creature who flourishes 
best in simple, Spartan-like circumstances, in 
struggles with adversities and obstacles which 
tax to the utmost his fortitude and staying power. 
But, being a creature of very great specific grav- 
ity, which we prefer to call him, rather than 
heavy, he goes to pieces and ruin quicker than 
men of other races, if the means of enjoyment 
are, ample and unearned, in his possession. And 
this is, perhaps, especially true of the members 
of the numerous class of the nobility not of the 
first rank. The reason of it is that the “heavi- 
ness” of which we speak causes the German to 
wallow in luxury rather than gracefully adapt 
himself to it, as the lighter men of the south do. 

And, perhaps, behind that reason, is the fact 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


273 


that the German is so healthy a creature, healthy 
with the health of the primitive forests of his 
forefathers, of a health too rude for the finer 
flowers of civilization which have always some- 
thing morbid in them. 

Werner Sclilitzing’s degeneracy, if it can be 
called so, was physical, then, rather than spirit- 
ual; it was, in fact, the relaxation rather than 
the degeneracy of fiber. His ancient idealism 
still clung to him as latent heat; but the ma- 
terial part of him had become heavier, and 
dragged him down to earth. 

The dreadful thing was this. This man seemed 
one who had been expressly formed by nature 
to be the very typic, model, exemplary repre- 
sentative of his noble nation ; and, as such, al- 
ways to be in the forefront of its noblest strug- 
gles, always in the very front rank of those who 
were advancing toward pure and disinterested 
ends. Whereas, what was he now? That he 
had flung from him the obligations of the pro- 
fessional soldier was comparatively a slight 
thing, though the act typified his moral fall. 
The truly fearful thing was that he had left the 
greater army of the fighters who represent the 
Holy Spirit and Intellect of man, and to which 
he was pledged by every faculty %of his soul; 
that he had become a cowardly loafer and camp 
follower ; if, indeed, he might not better be de- 
scribed as one who slept away his hours in a 
ditch by the roadside, while the great host of the 
combatants swept by him, their colors spread to 
the wind, on their glorious road to death or vie- 


274 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


tory. But it was a broken sleep. Every now 
and then his eyes opened, and he gazed on that 
glorious host with unutterable yearnings in his 
heart; but no one in those ranks ever turned 
round to look again at him. From him they 
expected nothing more in this life; nevermore 
could he belong to that great company. 

How could it all have happened, how? In 
God’s name, how? 

Those great catastrophes, analogous to the 
earthquake, which suddenly transform a man’s 
life from one type of being to another, quite dif- 
ferent or opposite, are rare indeed. There had 
been no such earthquake with Werner. In his 
case the whole development seemed to be merely 
normal, if you considered only the exterior cir- 
cumstances and left the psychical factor out of 
account. And perhaps it was this which made 
the unhappy man now feel that this moral inferi- 
ority of his lot was in the nature of a finality, 
which no power, human or divine, could now 
modify. 

The early days of his youthful marriage had 
been a§ fresh and sweet as any youthful morning 
of wedded love ever could be expected to be. 

Never did man take away with him from the 
altar wedded wife more tender, and more shyly 
wise and thoughtful than the Else Ried of Kru- 
genberg who married Werner Schlitzing. The 
poor fellow knew that right well ; and he had 
then and there registered a vow in his sincerely 
grateful heart that whatever he could do to make 
her happy should faithfully be done. And, ac- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


275 


cording to tlieir original plans, their honeymoon 
was to have been spent in traveling through 
Italy. 

Else, in fact, wanted to indemnify Werner for 
all that he had given up for her sake. But the 
project fell through. In the first place, Werner 
could not possibly ask for a sufficiently long leave 
twice in the same year; and, again, Italy was 
unsafe that year because of an epidemic that 
prevailed there. So Italy was postponed to the 
following year, and they entered without delay 
upon their own house and home life in Berlin. 

And that little home wa§ charming and cozy 
indeed. Werner took great delight in it and in 
his tender little wife, and enjoyed his happiness 
gratefully and thoroughly in the intervals when 
he was off military duty, which at that time was 
very severe and exacting. In the seven years 
of his marriage he had never known days of 
such satisfaction as those of its earliest stage. 

It was not so with Else. In the midst of her 
new married happiness she was plagued and tor- 
tured by frequent longings for her old home, for 
Nassau and Krugenberg. She felt herself a 
stranger in Berlin. The acquaintances Werner 
introduced her to there — they were not numerous 
— did not display the warmth which she had 
been used to at home. The social etiquettes pre- 
vailing in that capital seemed to her intolerably 
stiff and absurdly minute. There was not a 
soul, except Werner, in all Berlin for whom she 
could care a jot. 

So, to indemnify herself for all this social pri- 


276 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


vation, she made it her business, from morning 
to night, to contrive one plan after another for 
his comfort; or, briefly, to spoil him, if she 
could. That was, at first, by no means an easy 
thing. She found it difficult to find any leverage 
in his character or wants which she could use to 
make him enjoy one thing more particularly than 
another. She loaded him with presents. He 
was very grateful for her kindness, and kissed 
her heartily and thankfully every time she 
bought him something. But what to do with 
all the miscellaneous things she honored him 
with — after that — he had not the least idea; so 
they were, as a rule, put aside at once in seme 
corner or other, not to be looked at again. The 
truth is that luxury was an incongruous element, 
and he felt simply uncomfortable in it. He never 
seemed inclined to touch the most exquisite of 
the dishes served at his table, and would, with 
the most serious countenance in the world, and 
without saying a word, clear out and put on one 
side, as if they had no business to be there, the 
truffles with which Else h'ad had the poultry 
stuffed for his especial delectation. All the fur- 
niture in his new dwelling was too soft; chairs, 
tables, everything, not high enough ; the venti- 
lation insufficient. He always chose the hardest 
chairs to sit on, and, whenever he had a chance, 
would tear the windows wide open in the middle 
of winter. On one of those occasions Else caught 
a severe cold, and he was almost beside himself ; 
he nursed her like the tenderest of mothers, and 
cursed his own stupidity and thoughtlessness. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


277 


But, with the best of good will, he was often 
thoughtless like that. The fact was he had no 
idea of the protecting care required in the case 
of a little lady who had been so petted and spoiled 
as Else Ried. He made her do the most impossi- 
ble things ; as, for example, walk instead of ride 
home after the theater; or, if the weather was 
very bad, wait at the corner, till the right street 
car came, in the pouring rain, with an umbrella 
over them — her umbrella, of course ; as an officer 
he could net have one. And this umbrella he 
would hold over her delicate little head with the 
most patient tenderness ; and then, when they got 
into the car, deposit it, dripping wet, upon her 
knees. 

Else was always rather reluctant to do any- 
thing to open his eyes to the absurdity of these 
little economies and discomforts; to point at, for 
example, how much more proper it would have 
been for the man-servant to come to the theater 
and get a cab for them, instead of remaining at 
home and improving himself by studying Schil- 
ler’s “Robbers.” He was so terribly cast down, 
whenever she said a word, at finding that he had 
“treated her so badly.” 

That was a thing which he never did if he 
knew it. Whenever she wanted anything, and 
let him know it, he never refused her, if what 
she desired was in his power to secure ; but he 
scarcely ever divined any want of hers of his 
own accord. And if ever she did permit her- 
self, in the shy recesses of her mind, to long for 
any special pleasure, which she could not bring 


278 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


herself to ask for, it always escaped his notice. 
Else now and then spoke about it laughingly, 
when it was quite too late for him to do anything 
in the matter to gratify her. Then it was always : 
“But, Else, why in the world did you say noth- 
ing about it?” To which she would reply, with 
a little tender pout: “Oh, dear! if one has to ask 
outright for a thing it quite spoils one’s pleasure. 
You might have guessed all about it, sir!” 

Then he would stare at her, with those big, 
blue- gray, idealist’s eyes of his, in astonishment, 
and was about as miserable as a young fellow 
could be. Dear me ! How could he guess that 
she wanted any such thing? and how could he 
possibly have known that it could in any way 
give pleasure to a living soul? 

Things of that sort — it was, generally, about 
some social occasion, a ball, or the like — were 
no pleasure to him ; but he was fond of going to 
the theater, or to concerts. But crowded parties 
were a horror to him.' He couldn’t help being 
glad that Else and his Aunt Warsberg did not 
get on well together, and that they very rarely 
appeared, in consequence, at that lady’s parties. 
It was quite change enough for W erner to drink 
tea, now and then, with one of his married com- 
rades. Then came his entry into the Staff 
Academy, and his military studies absorbed him 
almost entirely. And, how delightful it was to 
return from his cold, bare room at that institu- 
tion to tea at his cozy dining-room at home, and 
enjoy his meal there with that youthful, hunt- 
er’s appetite which he had not as yet lost ! while 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


279 


a little wife, who was a perfect model of beauty, 
kept encouraging him to go on with her cheerful, 
affectionate glances. How delightful it was, 
after the meal, to have a little passage of conju- 
gal tenderness with her, before they went to- 
gether into their comfortable parlor, and he 
smoked his cigarette and plunged in his inter- 
esting book, with the delightful feeling that she 
was never very far off from him. 

That delightful feeling of her proximity to 
him ! Delightful indeed ! There seemed a very 
perfume in the air when she was in the chamber, 
and the mere atmosphere seemed as if it had 
something caressing interfused with it. It did 
him good ; to such influences the pores of his 
sensibilities were really open, far more than to 
truffled poultry and luxurious easy-chairs. • Yes, 
her proximity was wholly delightful to him ; it 
seemed to warm his very heartstrings when she 
came up to him and laid her hand on his shoulder. 
And after he would kiss that hand, without lift- 
ing his eyes from his book, with the half-con- 
scious tenderness of a child, caressed by its 
mother in its sleep, and returning the caress. 
And, when he had sat there reading for a couple 
of hours or so, without saying one word to Else, 
he would suddenly lift up his eyes from the vol- 
ume, look at the clock, clap the book to, and, 
taking hold of Else’s arm, say: “Wasn’t that 
delightful; isn’t it always delightful, wifie?” 

Then there came an evening, when he lifted 
up his eyes from his bnok rather sooner than 
usual. His attention had been drawn away from 


280 CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 

his volume by something that had struck upon 
his ear, a little sound, it seemed, of somebody 
who was in great trouble and doing her best to 
prevent its breaking out. It was Else. She was 
sitting in a corner and quietly sobbing. “For 
God’s sake, pet, darling, angel!” — he brought 
out, in his agitation, his whole budget of pet 
names, and it was an ample one — “what is the 
matter with you?” He took her upon his knee 
and kissed and caressed her. 

“Forgive me, dear old man — I — I — oh, I really 
can’t help it ! but the truth is, 1 don’t know what 
to do with myself, it is so slow, so slow!” 

The result was that, after that evening, in- 
stead of reading to himself, he read out loud to 
her. And, when, this being arranged, he pro- 
posed ©ne book after another for this purpose, it 
came out that her literary information had very 
wide and serious gaps in it indeed. She was 
ashamed of it, but he laughed her out of the 
feeling, saying tenderly: “Oh, you dear, silly, 
sweet, blessed little lamb! Can’t you under- 
stand what a delight it is to me to be the first to 
take you up to the glorious upper regions where 
our great poets dwell. You shall traverse that 
Empyrean with me, flying from star to star, till 
you are giddy. And then I’ll bring you back 
to earth again!” 

Unfortunately, it took a very little flight to 
make her “quite giddy.” At first everything 
went splendidly. He began his readings with 
“Egmont,” which was an excellent idea of his. 
And his success with this first effort was over- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


281 


whelming. He read uncommonly well, simply 
and articulately, with warmth and intelligence, 
but with none of that declamatory obtrusiveness 
which always produces an equally painful and 
ridiculous impression in a small room, and which, 
God be thanked ! is fast disappearing, even from 
the stage. 

Else’s work — she was sewing — fell to her lap. 
Her cheeks were on fire. She loved Clarchen 
like a sister ; and, when the tragical end came, 
she wept like a child. And Werner was so 
moved, so elevated., by her enthusiasm, that he 
felt almost as though he had written “Egmont” 
himself. And now, German of the Germans as 
he was, he could not rest till he had introduced 
her into his heart’s inmost intellectual shrine, 
Goethe’s “Faust.” 

Things went tolerably well, so far as the First 
Part was concerned. It is true that she went to 
sleep at some passages — the walk in the garden, 
f jr example. But, as it was one o’clock in the 
morning before the reading was finished on that 
occasion, he could not reproach her for that. 
And when the tragical end came she shed all 
the tears and showed all the agitation which 
the most exacting Goethe-worshiper could have 
required. 

But then came — the Second Part. He could 
not but be aware that this would offer some diffi- 
culties to her understanding, but he was so pos- 
sessed with his own notions, and had led himself 
so foolishly astray in his desire to drag her along 
with him into his beloved realms of poetry, that 


282 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


he could not deny himself the pleasure of read- 
ing out that part of the work too. 

He had hardly begun it when she evinced such 
a decided repugnance to it that he had to stop. 

He thought that he would get her into a more 
amiable frame of mind toward the work if he 
took her to hear Schumann’s “Faust, ” a composi- 
tion with many defects, no doubt, which he was 
not insensible to, but which, for all that, was a 
special favorite of his. 

When the performance began Else did not 
seem at all taken by it ; but that seemed quite 
natural, he thought. Then, as the music went 
on, he became so utterly lost in it that he forgot 
who was by his side altogether. Then, when 
the finale came, and that soul-shaking prayer in 
the Tercelto of the women — 

Ah, forgive the poor, poor soul 
That knew not what should make it whole ! 
Whose worst of sins was to forget 
Thy Mercy that ne’er failed Man yet — 

came cutting into his very heart, he felt the need 
of sharing his emotion with the creature so dear 
and so near to him, and turned to Else. Oh, 
Heaven ! It was as if some one had suddenly 
emptied a big bucketful of cold water on him ! 
The dear little woman was munching chocolate 
lozenges ; and she held out the box to him with 
a yawn, whispering to him: “It’s awfully late, 
dear old man ; it isn’t good for you to go so long 
without something.” 

And that evening ended badly. Poor Faust ! 
Unhappy creature he always was. And, this 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


283 


time, he was so unfortunate as to be the occa- 
sion of the first breach in the unity of their 
sentiments, of which that pair had clear con- 
sciousness. 

W erner helped his wife into the carriage when 
the concert was over — he had come to understand 
that a carriage was a necessity to her — in dead 
silence. His purpose was to swallow his vexa- 
tion without wasting a word upon the subject, 
but it was a long way from the concert hall to 
their house. x^.nd the question which he had 
made up his mind to suppress somehow forced 
itself to his lips. 

“Else, Else! have you really no mind or ears 
to tell you how wonderful and great that work 
really is?” he exclaimed. “If the music said 
nothing to you, surely the wonderful poetry 
should have quite taken you out of yourself! 
That ending of the last part of “Faust”— set to 
music by Schumann — shows us the poet’s power 
of imagination, taking him far, far beyond the 
limits which we wrongly believe are set to man’s 
narrow understanding. Nothing more beautiful, 
more exalting, more sublime, has ever been said 
in words to man by man than that wonderful 
passage ! At the moment when Goethe had this 
inspiration Religion came down to Poetry, and 
Poetry went up to Religion, to be married thence- 
forth forever. ’ ’ 

Else shook her head and laughed. “I don’t 
know whether it’s you whose head is turned, or 
I whom am a stupid ; but all that is just as if 
you were speaking Chinese to me,” she replied. 


284 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


If he had been a wise person, he would have 
let the matter rest there ; but he was not a wise 
person. He began to plane and bore, carpenter- 
wise, and give her a screed of philosophic doc- 
trine about Art in general, including Poetry, in- 
terrupting it, now and then, with the question : 
“Don't you see now?” 

But she didn’t see; and, presently, she began 
to feel very vexed because she didn’t see; and 
more vexed still with him for insisting upon her 
seeing when she could not. She became just a 
trifle sullen; and at last exclaimed: “For God’s 
sake, do come down on your feet again! It 
makes me perfectly miserable to see you wrig- 
gling and wrestling between heaven and earth 
like that ! I can’t help it, but you do really seem 
to me to-day as though you had simply gone out 
of your mind !” 

Then he said no more. 

The scene culminated in floods of tears. And, 
after, came a reconciliation, and no end of ten- 
derness. But it left a certain unpleasant flavor, 
or echo, behind it — of Discord. 

The following evening, Werner, wishing, in 
his magnanimous soul, to regard all that had 
happened in the matter as canceled, took up the 
“Faust” again. It was his noble purpose to leave 
out most of it, and give his young wife the ben- 
efit of only the most beautiful and popular pas- 
sages. But he had more to learn, in these diffi- 
culties, than he thought. For lo! Else made a 
face exactly as a child does when offered medi- 
cine ; and then she went and sat down on his 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


285 


knee, and said: “Oh, dear! Do let the musty 
old volume alone! You’ve been so nice to-day; 
don't spoil it all now. Please play a game of 
piquet with me instead!” 

Werner did dot say a word. He put the book 
away, and played piquet with her like a lamb. 
And, dating from this, they played piquet every 
evening, except when they had a few friends, 
which was not often, or when they went out, 
which was even less often. And, when it came 
to piquet — whatever might be the case with 
“Faust” — she could give him points. And she 
enjoyed her superiority like a child. If he had 
been more in love with her, or if his character 
had been stronger than hers, he would have 
taken it all coolly, and have begun his educa- 
tional efforts, after a while, in a quite elementary 
way, so leading her from small beginnings up- 
ward. But, being what he was, he gave them 
up altogether, now and forever. 

Not that he meant to do so, at first. His first 
impulse, to which of course he yielded, was to 
ride the high horse a little. He felt hurt, and 
resolved to wait till Else asked him again to read 
something to her. But Else did not ask him. 
Else’s sunny temper made her utterly averse to 
anything like a scene ; her habits and her tem- 
per were such that life with her went on smoothly 
and without friction. To all forms of mental 
and moral disturbance, therefore, she had the 
strongest repugnance. And she was willing to 
give up everything and anything to avoid those 
evils. Besides, she was quite without any par- 


286 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


ticular desire to extend her literary acquirements. 
And, if all that “stuff” only served to cause 
trouble and worry between them, why she would 
rather have nothing whatever to do with it. 

In this way, Werner’s attempts to impart cul- 
ture to his young wife came suddenly and ir- 
revocably to a premature end. And, thencefor- 
ward, his and her intellectual and spiritual 
interests were permanently sundered. The 
result was that the young husband seemed to 
lose his way in his Telations to her, and his mood 
became one of discouragement. What could he 
do to make her happy, as he so honestly desired? 
To this question he could find no answer, none. 

He became very sad, and would have been 
even sadder but for the fact that he was in the 
final stage of his military studies at the Staff 
College. These so absorbed his attention, that 
it altogether escaped his notice that Else was 
beginning to look very unwell. 

Old Baron Ried happened to visit Berlin just 
then, and drew Werner’s attention to his daugh- 
ter’s condition. The physician was called in, 
and imperatively prescribed change of air. Else’s 
longing for her home was almost uncontrollable; 
and Werner, in his anxiety and tender feeling, 
and constant desire to let her have her own way, 
interposed no difficulty as to her going there. 

For a few days after he was thus left by him- 
self he felt something of the ‘discomfort that the 
skin does when the temperature of a room falls 
very rapidly to a much lower point. But that 
he got over very quickly. He found that to do 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


287 


without her was far too easy a thing to deserve 
the name of sacrifice. But she, poor girl ! longed 
for his presence from the moment of their part- 
ing. And the longing went on and increased. 

During the course of the summer he made re- 
peated, but short, visits to Krugenberg. This 
was quite expensive, but he began to be familiar 
with the idea — it had taken a long time — that 
expense was no object now with him. He began, 
at last, to be quite sensible of the many conven- 
iences and advantages wealth afforded, and to 
take advantage of it accordingly. 

In the autumn, Else brought a little boy into 
the world. 

Old Mme. Schlitzing, who had hoped to be 
with her little motherless daughter-in-law, whom 
she so tenderly loved, at this trying time, was 
unfortunately detained by illness at Wernigerode, 
which town she had inhabited since her widow- 
hood. Thus, in this time of trial and anxiety, 
Else had nobody but Werner to look to for loving 
care and tending. 

She had a bad time of it at the baby’s birth. 
Werner’s nature was, as we know, almost softer 
than man’s should be. And he was deeply 
affected, indeed frightened almost to death, by 
what he saw her undergo. So he nursed his 
young wife to recovery with a careful tenderness 
of which, perhaps, no other living man would 
have been capable, and for this purpose procured 
a long leave of absence from the military author- 
ities. Her convalescence was a slow and tedious 
affair. It was only by very slow degrees that 


288 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


she became able to drag herself about the house * 
again. She was now much paler than formerly. 
And her person gained enormously in charm 
and loveliness. She seemed to carry with her an 
exceptionally large portion of that magical attrac- 
tion peculiar to young mothers. And it may be 
imagined how powerfully this affected Werner’s 
romantic temper. 

It was a delightful episode this, in the life of 
the pleasant old mansion; for Else above all. No 
strangers there ; only beings bound to each other 
by ties of love. The old father-in-law, Else, Wer- 
ner — and that important addition, a little help- 
less creature in a cradle. 

A charming episode, a charming interior! 
While out of doors were autumn storms, falling 
and dying leaves smelling slightly of violets, 
white strips of mist vrith the sun fighting them ; 
indoors, on the other hand, were long, white- 
washed corridors hung with innumerable antlers, 
and heavily wainscoted, with an odor of cold 
stone- work and lime about them ; and, on the oth- 
er side of the gray doors leading to these, delight- 
ful odors, perfect comfort, airy rooms with large 
windows, furniture in not too great quantity; 
everything arranged for convenience, scarcely 
anything for show; the only decorative element 
in the apartments consisting, first, of lovely old 
porcelain arranged in primitive glass cases 
standing in dark corners; next, of family por- 
traits, and, finally, of stands for plants, fcr 
which the gardener provided an unfailing supply 
of the best flowers of the season. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


289 


“How delightful it is to be all together like 
this, and what a dreadful pity that it will be 
over so soon!” sighed the father-in-law. And 
Else echoed, “A dreadful pity!” and then both 
sighed in unison. 

Werner, poor fellow, smelled mischief in the 
air, and did his best to get away. But one 
thing or another always occurred to prevent it : 
a slight indisposition of Else ; bad weather, what 
not. Else nursed the little one herself. Out of 
the question to expose her to the fatigue of the 
journey. The idea of traveling with a tiny thing 
like that on the edge of winter! 

Then, ooe day, the old gentleman came to 
Werner as a suppliant. It had come to light 
that the steward, to whom he had confided the 
absolute and uncontrolled management of the 
estate, was a confirmed scoundrel. Theft, on a 
large scale, had just been brought right home to 
him. It seemed only too plain that a large por- 
tion of the income of Krugenberg had, for some 
years, been wrongfully dealt with and was ir- 
revocably lost. The old gentleman, it appeared, 
had signed quantities of papers without reading 
a word of them. And now he had been breaking 
his head all that morning over accounts and 
estate books, and could make neither head nor 
tail of them. Wouldn’t Werner be so kind as 
to help him in the matter? With his clever head 
he’d be able to separate the wheat from the chaff 
in a moment. And if he only would just go 
about a little among the people on the property 
and see what they were at? 


290 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


What could Werner do? It would have been 
inconsistent with his sense of duty not to lend 
his father-in-law a helping hand at such a pass. 
So he set to work. Night after night he sat late 
over the books, and investigated the state of 
affairs with the persons employed on the estate. 
He discovered many peculations that had been 
going on for years. He put financial order into 
the chaos, properly distinguishing capital ac- 
count, gross profits and net profits. He ascer- 
tained with some precision which were the more 
and which the less remunerative products of the 
estate, and which part of the personnel employed 
on it ought to be retained and which ought to be 
got rid of. Having been brought up ‘on his par- 
ents’ property, he had almost sucked in with his 
mother’s milk, as they say, all the practical 
points connected with agriculture and the ad- 
ministration of landed property. And he had a 
quicker and more decisive eye for everything 
connected with it than a mere townsman can 
ever acquire, however deep may be his study of 
the theory and science of the subject. 

Else’s admiration of his doings knew no 
bounds, and she expressed her pride in him lav- 
ishly. The old gentleman overwhelmed his 
daughter with praises for giving him such a 
son-in-law, and declared that he was nothing 
short of a blessing to the famify. 

His wife and father-in-law did not formally 
state the problem before him, still less make any 
direct request that he would consider his posi- 
tion, but on the course which things generally 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


291 


ought to take. But he was called into requisi- 
tion from morning to night about one thing or 
another, and became indispensable. And, in an 
incidental way, they suggested much. 

But there was his military career ! But, after 
all, what was a soldier’s career in those times of a 
peace that might be protracted, God alone knew 
how long? If the country were in danger, his 
return to the colors would be a mere matter of 
course. But to go on serving to no better pur- 
pose than rising slowly to captain’s rank, and 
then to major’s, that surely was to deliver him- 
self over to mere barren worry and trouble in 
comparison with the useful and profitable field 
of work that was open to him there at Krugen- 
berg. Of course, no sort of moral compulsion 
should be laid upon him; ''and if the sacrifice was 
too great not another word should be said about 
it. He ought not to be' either forced or talked 
into such a course; to attempt it would be quite 
wrong. 

It was one evening, a little before the expira- 
tion of his leave, after a severe day’s shooting, 
followed by a tremendous gallop across very 
heavy country. The preserves shot over had 
been a long way off, and he had ordered a horse 
to be brought there to go home with. Then 
came dinner, at seven o’clock, an exceptionally 
good dinner, and then— Else’s dressing-room! 
She had dismissed her maid, and the two were 
alone. Else was combing out her hair. Such 
wonderful hair! She wore it in simple, thick 
coils on her head ; and when these were loosed it 


292 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


fell down, in swelling profusion, considerably 
below her waist. Werner sat back in an easy- 
chair, smoking cigarettes and reveling in the 
sight of her. The stove was lighted, and its 
warmth was grateful in the cold, autumn air; 
but, at the same time, the atmosphere it made 
was heavy and relaxing. The wood crackled 
and spluttered as the fire took hold of it. There 
were some flower- glasses, with resedas and roses 
in them, on the toilet-table at which Else was 
seated, and their' perfume mingled with the odor 
of the burning wood. It was a comfortable ar- 
rangement altogether. 

Then Else came out with her entreaties again, 
and more definitely. She began by saying that 
she knew it was asking a great deal of him, a 
very great deal — nobody could know that better 
than herself; but, the long and the short of it 
was, she couldn’t help herself, she couldn’t in- 
deed ! To leave her old father alone now was 
something too terrible for her to face; and, as 
to managing the property, why the old gentle- 
man was quite past that now. If Werner found 
it impossible to do what they wished, Krugen- 
berg would have to be sold ; there was no help 
for it. 

She put all this to him with inexorable clear- 
ness, and then suddenly broke off short. He 
made no reply, but sat there looking in front of 
him, with a face full of gloom, with his elbows 
on his knees and his chin in his hand, a man 
perplexed upon an anxious seat. Else couldn’t 
stand it. She jumped out, went behind him and 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


293 


put her arms round his neck, crying: “Oh! 
it’s too, bad ! it’s too bad ! to put a pistol to 
your head like that, my poor, poor Werner! But 
papa is dinning it into my ears, morning, noon 
and night. He thinks there’s nobody like you in 
the world, and looks upon you as his savior, 
and the savior of Krugenberg, too. But you 
are more to me than everything else on this 
earth, and if your military career is indispensa- 
ble to you — and certainly if ever man was made 
for the army, you are — I’d rather ten times 
over that Krugenberg went wherever it has to 
go!” 

He made no reply, but stroked her soft, warm 
arms, arms which seemed, in their satin-like bril- 
liancy, to reflect more light than they absorbed ; 
then he put her hands, one after another, to his 
cheeks. 

She bent over him and kissed him on the fore- 
head. “My poor Werner!” she whispered, 
“here have I given you a sore, sore heart again !” 

She was simply enchanting. So great were 
the gifts she had lavised on him, good measure, 
pressed down, running over, that he felt himself 
overwhelmed. And he never ceased to be haunted 
by the distressing thought that he was as much 
her debtor as her husband ; alas ! even more so. 
If he had loved her as she loved him, he would 
have had more strength in weighing her desires, 
would have felt himself justified in opposing 
them, when necessary, however it pained her. 
But, as things were, he felt himself weak as 
water. She gave him so much, and he returned 


294 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


so little. The balance must be struck somehow, 
whatever it cost him! 

There was a painful inner struggle. But it 
ended in his renouncing his military career, in 
spite of prospects of rapid and high promotion 
much more brilliant than was usual in his rank 
and at his age. 

His heart was nearly broken when he did it. 
But what the world said was: “That fellow 
knows how to take care of himself!” 


CHAPTER XXI Y. 

His mother’s answer to the letter in which 
he informed her of his having renounced the 
military calling and chosen another — as he 
phrased it — was a long time before it came. 
And when it came it tasted bitter in Werner’s 
mouth. 

The old lady wrote with a dry brevity. She 
expressed a hope that neither he nor Else would 
ever see occasion to regret the inconceivable de- 
cision he had come to. 

This letter made Else very angry, indeed. 
And from this moment some tension entered 
into the relations of the daughter-in-law and 
Werner’s mother which could not be got over, 
notwithstanding the fact that Else, always 
sweet and loving, again and again held out 
the hand of peace to -the old lady. Hot, indeed, 
that the latter meant to thrust away, or ever 
did truly thrust away, that dear little hand. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


295 


No: it was something which the old woman 
did her very best to overcome ; but a cherished 
dream of her life had been rudely dissipated, 
and it was too much for her. She did all she 
could to bear the altered circumstances with 
dignified composure, but she never entirely suc- 
ceeded. And whenever she was, for a while, 
under one roof with Werner she succeeded least 
of all. 

She came several times to Krugenberg in com- 
pliance with Else’s pressing invitation, and every 
time she made up her mind that she would be 
happy and contented there. And every time 
it was the same; she couldn’t stand it, and 
hurried off after a very brief stay. Spoil her 
as Else would, it was the same; not even the 
little tendernesses of her sweet little grandchild 
would do. Away she had to go. 

Else felt deeply wounded at the way in which 
the old lady fled from Krugenberg. “I’ve done 
my very best to make her feel at home with us,” 
she complained to Werner after one of her mother- 
in-law’s too brief visits. “I can’t think what 
it is. Our life here is as nice and sweet and 
happy as any one would wish. I can’t im- 
agine anything more delightful. What is it 
drives your mother away from us like that?” 

Werner made no reply to this. He knew 
only too well what it was drove his mother 
away from Krugenberg. It was the intoler- 
able spectacle of the difference between her 
expectations and hopes in his regard and that 
which he had settled down to: the sight of her 


296 CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 

son’s downfall, the terrible fact that her Wer- 
ner, her bright, noble boy, had come to be noth- 
ing but his wife’s husband, the most brilliantly 
best off son-in-law in all Nassau; and that he 
seemed to thrive and prosper and feel at home 
in this life of lounging worthlessness. It was 
this that drove the old woman away as with 
whips and scorpions. 

Enjoy it, thrive in it, prosper in it? Ah, 
there she did him wrong! Certainly he could 
not deny that he seemed to enjoy it; nay, he did 
really strive to enjoy it. Bound hand and foot 
as he was, what could he do but try to make the 
best of all the material features, at least, of his 
'position, if he didn’t want to go and dash his 
brains out against the wall for sheer weariness 
and despair? But thrive in it, enjoy it! No, 
indeed! That was beyond him. 

When his mother was at Krugenberg he took 
the greatest pains to seem happy and pleased to 
have her there, while, in truth, it was just as 
much wretchedness to him as it was to her. 
When the carriage drove away with her he 
always had a divided feeling of pain and re- 
lief. Relief that those eyes so filled with sad 
disappointment, so humiliating in their expres- 
sion of disappointment with him, were no longer 
there to vex him with their too searching glances. 
Pain, hot, burning, intolerable pain, because, on 
every one of these occasions, it seemed to him as 
if his mother took away with her another and 
yet another fragment of that older self of his 
which was on its lingering death-bed. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 297 

Oh, if he could but have hastened to follow 
her into his old freedom, independence and 
poverty! But no! There he had to remain, 
idle, worthless, faineant , letting himself be 
fattened up, and wasting himself in efforts to 
persuade himself that no fellow in the world 
was so well off, and that he ought to thank his 
stars for the improvement in his circumstances ! 

Oh, these years at Krugenberg! These years 
of desolation, emptiness, and horror at Krugen- 
berg! At first, everything went as happily as 
clock-work. Old Baron Hied never tired of 
boasting of his son - in - law’s administrative 
talents. But, after a while, those praises be- 
came less and less frequent. Something seemed 
to arrest their course. 

The net income which resulted from Werner’s 
exertions did not answer the old gentleman’s 
expectations; indeed, was very considerably 
lower than that which his dishonest servants, 
in the execution of their nefarious designs, had 
managed to squeeze out of the estate. That the 
fellows had done this by forcing results in every 
possible ingenious way, to the prejudice of the 
soil, and that economy was absolutely necessary 
while the land recovered itself, unless the whole 
thing was to go to irretrievable ruin, was what 
Werner could not drive into the old gentleman’s 
head. He began to let this and that one among 
the sub-stewards report his views upon the un- 
satisfactory state of affairs. He began to inter- 
fere at critical moments, and disastrously, with 
his son-in-law’s management. He began to 


298 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


criticise in a teasing., petty way, Werner’s ex- 
cellent purpose of doing the best for the land- 
owner and the land. He allowed subordinates 
to influence his mind more and more every day, 
and began to assume an exasperating air of meri- 
toriously patient endurance of Werner’s doings, 
and to praise him for his “good intentions.” 
And the thing came at last to a painful scene be- 
tween the young and older man, which ended by 
the latter assuring his son-in-law that he had 
nothing to reproach him with; that it was not to 
be expected that he could be suddenly trans- 
formed from an able officer in the guards into a 
practical agriculturist; and that all he, the cld 
man, had to ask of him — Werner Schlitzing — 
was that he would make his daughter happy. 

The poor old man was so confused in his 
head, as very obstinate old fellows are apt to 
become, that he actually believed himself to 
be speaking quite considerately and kindly 
to Werner when he delivered himself of these 
extraordinary remarks. But, when he had 
done, Werner, without wasting a further word 
in reply, left the room and went out into the 
woods. There was a cold autumn rain on and 
it came dripping down over his face and ears, 
and the dead leaves were falling in showers 
from the trees. Werner wept like a child; he 
took hold of the trees and tried to shake them 
in his vexation, raging at their base as the 
wind and rain did at their crowns; he broke 
off heavy branches from the younger growths, 
and stamped in the puddles with a sort of 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


299 


frenzy. He declared to himself that he would 
break with it all and away from it all now and 
forever; that he would fling all his father-in- 
law’s money at his feet; take his wife and 
child in his arms and go, some where or other, 
with them to make a new existence for himself, 
however humble; and that he would, in the first 
place, take refuge with his mother at Wernige- 
rode until he was gazetted to some new regi- 
ment, as he hoped to be. He would do this — 
that — only . . . ! Then, in the midst of his 
angry passion, it suddenly struck him that, 
whatever he might decide as to the more dis- 
tant future, for the present moment he was 
bound hand and foot, absolutely and pitiably 
helpless, could do nothing but digest his father- 
in-law’s outrages as best he might. He had for 
the moment forgotten. Else was expecting her 
second confinement in a few days, and she was 
in a very troubled and depressed state of mind. 
It was quite out of the question that she should 
be exposed to agitation of any kind that could 
be avoided ; that was his first duty. So it ended 
in his going back, like a repentant school-boy, in 
some hurry, lest he might be too late to dress 
for dinner. 

His father-in-law had been watching for his 
return, and received him with an air made up 
of reproach, indulgence, and tenderness. 

And he ordered the butler to put a special 
bottle of champagne in the ice for dinner. 

It may be supposed that there is nothing 
which a human being cannot get accustomed 


300 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


to if he only has time enough, even to drinking 
at dinner the champagne of a father-in-law who 
thinks that there’s only one thing in the world 
which you are any good for — that is to say, 
making his daughter happy. But Werner found 
it quite a difficult thing to do, poor fellow! and 
that champagne tasted to him like medicine to 
the bitter end. 

Resolutions such as those which Werner came 
to that day in the woods in the streaming au- 
tumn rain— violent, convulsive, revolutionary 
resolves like that — are like thoughts of suicide. 
If their execution has to be deferred^ it is apt 
not to come off at all. 

If his life had been a thing which still retained 
any sacred ness or value in his own eyes, he 
might have plucked up energy enough to extri- 
cate himself with one decisive, vigorous stroke 
from all this complicated wretchedness. But 
life, in all its aspects, was now a matter of in- 
difference to him. The conviction took deeper 
and deeper root in him everyday, unfortunately, 
that he was a man who had utterly lost his way 
in life, and that it was now too late to mend the 
matter. 

The only thing he had really to see to was 
that Else’s innocent little life should be care- 
fully guarded so as not to share the despoilment 
and fuin of his own. 

Therefore he determined to make compliance 
his rule. He applied himself to the task of 
learning to lounge and idle away his hours like 
any other amiable nonentity. He made no 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


301 


further resistance to any amount of petting 
and courting Else chose to offer, and followed 
her like a lamb into the whirl of society which 
had been her own proper element from the time 
when she was a little thing. 

She belonged to all sorts of social sets. As 
her father’s daughter she made one of the higher 
aristocratic class, of course. And she was of 
the wealthy Frankfurters by virtue of her 
mother, who had been not only a conspicuous 
and lovable beauty, but also the child of one of 
the burgher patricians of that town of finance. 
So Else was more than at home among all these 
old associations of blood and friendship. In 
fact, relatives and friends were much the same 
to her. But Werner was a stranger among 
them — was so, and remained so. 

Ah, how all this past came up again in him 
in this January thaw, with its suggestion of 
spring in its air, as he went along among the 
dripping trees and muddy roads of the park. 
He lived over again that whole time in his 
thought, year by year, day by day. His father- 
in-law’s rough words, the visits among the neigh- 
bors, the long, long dinners, the luxurious food, 
the strong wines, the refinement, the convention- 
ality, the artificiality of it all. Then it struck 
him vividly how he had suffered morally under 
all this; how these influences had gradually told 
on his idealistic and ascetic disposition to the 
injury of his strength of soul. He thought of 
the festal days at Wiesbaden and Frankfurt he 


302 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


had had to go through; of the long drives from 
Krugenberg to the nearest railway station, the 
overheated railway cars with their reek of burn- 
ing coals; then those celebrations. The men — 
Ah, me! It was the men who affected him most 
painfully of all, almost, indeed, drove him to 
despair. Heavy fellows, of quite polished ex- 
terior, with ever so much more knowledge of 
the world, and its pleasures especialljq than he 
possessed; punctilious in all outward observ- 
ances, but without a particle of genuine con- 
science. In fact, perfectly unscrupulous, in 
satisf5 r ing their greeds and passions. Good- 
humored fellows enough, indeed, not without 
tact and mother wit, with no exaggeration 
about them, without an idea or an aspiration. 
And, what was terrible, one and all of them 
having on their faces that indefinable look of 
depreciation for Werner, the officer of the guard, 
who had sold himself, the “kept” son-in-law. 
And then the women ! Oh, those women ! Beau- 
tiful, certainly; luxurious in build and habits; 
elegant, primitively simple flesh and blood creat- 
ures, with the stimulating fire of the Rhine wine 
coursing through their veins, with full red lips, 
and slow, languorous glances that drew you 
slowly and surely to their side. 

And these women were of different kinds and 
schools and opinions, if such grave words may 
be used of them. There were not only these 
luxurious and thoughtless ones, the mere pleas- 
ure-lovers, who were the majority. Among 
them were some who gave themselves the air 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 303 

of being 4 4 thinkers, ’ * and tried to give their 
lives of pleasure the support of some sort of 
Epicurean principle or theory. In former days 
principles and theories were invoked to restrain 
lives, but — nous avons change! tout cela! With 
a goodly number of these “theorizing” ladies 
Werner was well acquainted; “gifted natures,” 
as people were fond of calling them; ladies who 
were enthusiastic devotees of the later anarchic 
theories, which make the individual all in all 
and leave no place for the m^ral principles which 
alone make society coherent and possible; ladies 
who went pilgrimaging every year to Bayreuth 
in order to get their nerves irritated into a suit- 
able state of excitability for the coming autumn 
and winter season. 

Until he enjoyed the privilege of social inter- 
course with these strange samples of their sex 
Werner had never had the least idea how much 
he was behind the times. They completed his 
education for him. They lent him books which 
ho made it a point of duty to return to them after 
he had read them, and from which he gathered 
that he had been all his life in reality nothing 
but a poor-spirited Philistine, who had hitherto, 
greatly to his discredit, as he ought to feel, sim- 
ply adhered to traditional obligations and prin- 
ciples. But that conformity had been mere 
waste of time. He would have spent it better 
— according to these doctrines— in riding rough- 
shod over every scruple of his own heart, and 
over every other person's heart, that stood be- 
tween him and any gratification he might be 


304 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


bent on. He learned from these writers that 
mercy and love of your neighbor were pitiful 
contemptible scruples, a sort of moral scrofula 
that had come up under the influence of Chris- 
tianity, that worst enemy of the free develop- 
ment of the human race. He learned that the 
sentiment called duty was nothing but an 
artificial beautification — if the word may be 
permitted — of the moral cowardice which sacri- 
ficed everything to conventions and traditions; 
he learned that all claims to fidelity in the rela- 
tions of men and women were simple foolishness 
and feebleness, and an improper diminution of 
human freedom. He learned that when lovers 
began to tire of one another, this was due to 
some transformation of their physical substance; 
their cells, or skin, or solar plexus, or something 
for which they were no more responsible than 
for the movement of the solar system outside 
them. 

Fidelity, indeed! When all these great and 
vast new systems of truth had been at last re- 
vealed to us, showing how impossible a thing it 
is ! Ridiculous ! Absurd ! 

Poor Werner had but a very scanty knowledge 
of the various speculative attempts made in 
these latest centuries to find short cuts to hap- 
piness across country — so to speak — in lieu of 
sticking to the broad high roads in State and 
Church which were made first, and have since 
been kept in repair, by Christianity. If he had 
been more versed in these things all that wild 
talk and wilder print would have failed to move 




CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


305 


him. They would have only drawn from him 
a careless, skeptical smile, and not at all have 
shaken his conviction that humanity would turn 
a deaf ear to all these invitations to make new 
“eras” or “societies” for itself, and know per- 
fectly well how to defend itself against those 
who should try to force its hand in that regard. 

Werner had been brought up and educated in 
those simple, severe and stern sentiments, duties 
and relations which may be said to represent 
the still subsisting patriarchalism of the social 
system. His intellect was in some sort, there- 
fore, surprised and confounded; he was alto- 
gether taken aback by these new doctrines. It 
was something like a simple countryman hear- 
ing, for the first time in his life, that there were 
actually men in the world who do not believe in 
the existence of a God. 

The impression at first produced upon him by 
these new theories was of something unhallowed 
and uncanny. Presently, however, he began to 
waver in his absolute fidelity to traditional 
views. In a little while he began to feel that 
these sat upon him like an old-fashioned suit of 
clothes. He began to be a little ashamed of his 
hereditary ethics, and to look upon them as bag- 
gage which had, perhaps, materially hindered 
him so far in his journey through life and the 
world. 

In a word, he began to enter on that danger- 
ous path of moral and mental analysis, which 
may lead — whither? There had been many a 
man before him — if he had only known it— 


806 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


quite as clever as he, who had gone further 
than he was preparing to do in the abuse or 
misuse of their reasoning powers. And what 
had been the result, in fine, of their moral in- 
surrections, of the morbid protests against, and 
analyses of, the existing moralities and sys- 
tems of society? This only — unless they had 
degenerated into lunatics or positive criminals 
— that, at last, they had been forced to discard 
their speculations and sum up the whole matter, 
in its speculative and practical exigencies, in 
the simple formula: “Comply! Conform! Obey! 
Submit!” But Werner knew little of all this 
at that earlier date. However, it was all to be 
made inexorably clear to him by later experi- 
ences, by later and higher illumination; which, 
however, was unfortunately not there to shine 
upon his path, and guard his life, when those 
ladies led him that dance over fen and moor 
and wild heath with their wicked, will-o’-the- 
wisp lights. 

At that earlier date it seemed something like 
cowardice to him to put his thoughts away in 
his pocket without following them up to the 
end. Only a coward would allow his prejudices 
to run away with him from the battlefield of 
thought. And if the moral obligations, hitherto 
held sacred by him, had no better foundation 
than prejudice, could it be the part of a man 
of spirit to go on conforming to them? 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


807 


CHAPTER XXV. 

It might have fared ill with Else s domestic 
happiness if he had happened, at that time, to be 
exposed to any really serious temptation. But 
none such occurred ; no temptation of the over- 
whelming kind that makes life seem quite worth- 
less to infirm creatures, unless they give way to 
it. Consideration for Else remained his govern- 
ing motive, after all, in that earlier stage of their 
marriage. All the ugly theories his speculative 
soul played wfith remained there inoperative and 
unassimilated, like an undigested poison in the 
stomach. And, like such poison, they awaited 
the quickening or stimulating influence of some 
further substances or ingredients, presenting 
themselves for digestion, in conjunction with 
which they would develop all their power to in- 
jure and destroy. 

There was no one of these theoretical ladies, 
these fair nihilists of speculation, who pleased 
him more than another, however patiently he 
might listen to their nonsense about turning the 
world upside down to improve its health. The 
whole batch of them had not a single particle 
among them of the sweet perfume of true woman- 
hood, of that mysterious, attractive, seductive, 
winning Something — no one has ever been able 
to define it — which may be called the Poetry of 
Womanhood; and of which no man, worthy of 
the name, can tolerate the absence. 

Werner was no person to be taken in the snare 


308 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


of ladies who wore their dresses so very low, and 
made such a very liberal display of their — opin- 
ions. At the bottom of his heart he was afraid 
of them. They seemed to present womanhood to 
him in the light of some dangerous, working fer- 
ment or leaven, which so muddled and muddied 
the waters that they would, perhaps, never be 
clear again. 

But the other, and quite different class of 
women, the joyous and lovable little fools! 
What of them? 

There are some human creatures who are en- 
dowed, like mollusks, with a thick shell, which 
resists the stroke of all temptations, little or 
great. Werner was not endowed with any such 
protective apparatus. His skin was so thin and 
sensitive that it felt every little breeze and every 
little pin prick as few ever do. It was morbidly 
sensitive to pleasant and unpleasant sensations. 
Ho man was ever born with less turn for prof- 
ligacy, and he was in no danger of contagion 
from the views and actions of the men of pleas- 
ure by whom he was surrounded. But he was 
keenly alive to the specific charm of womanhood, 
and women felt it. And, whenever he was in 
the clutches of despondency, he could not help 
feeling satisfaction at finding how easy it was 
for him to win the sympathy of the sex, nay how 
frequently it came to him spontaneously and 
without any solicitation at all. It became a 
source of pride to him to observe how his superi- 
ority in this respect roused the envy of the men 
about, who thought themselves so very superior 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


309 


to him every way. And, so, before he realized 
it, that sort of incense and admiration from the 
other sex became almost a necessity of life to 
him. In fact, it was the only thing which had 
power to drag him out of the attacks of melan- 
choly which grew stronger and blacker with 
every day in his soul. 

All this superficial spiritual coquetry with 
others did not one whit affect his feelings for 
Else. On the contrary. After every one of 
these light forays into those stupider regions of 
the pays du tendre , he returned with increased 
affection to his sweet young wife ; who, when 
compared with other women, seemed to him 
more and more to wear the character of a frolic- 
some, warm-hearted young saint. Else, good, 
sensible creature, never for a moment imagined 
that there was more than there really was in any 
of these fugitive dallyings. She used to laugh 
heartily at these “successes” of his: She had 
that innocent, unaggressive sense of personal 
superiority which sets a woman above the level 
of jealousy, and constitutes the best protection 
for her husband, if he be worth anything, and 
for herself too. 

Accordingly, this absolute, unsuspecting con- 
fidence of hers was something that, now and 
then, he felt like a heavy load on his shoulders. 
Those “intellectual” ladies were always preach- 
ing the doctrine that repentance was mere weak- 
ness. But Werner, poor fellow, could no more 
put the tip of his finger into moral pitch without 
repenting than he could fly. To bok into Else’s 


310 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


pure, tender eyes, and feel that he had ever so 
small a speck of sinful thought on his conscience, 
was what he never found himself able to endure. 
And he always declared to himself that “it” 
should never occur again. But Fate was too 
strong for him, or he too weak for Fate. 

Then, one fine day, Fate altered its mind in 
his regard, and put an abrupt stop to these levi- 
ties. Old Baron Ried fell ill with acute rheu- 
matism and was, presently, all but totally dis- 
abled by it. 

For some time after that Else was transformed 
into a mere sick-nurse, and only a fragment of 
her was left for her husband. The invalid suf- 
fered in- his temper more than in his bones, and, 
grudging everybody else a moment of her time, 
kept her night and day by his side. 

Werner’s mission in life seemed now to be re- 
duced to the single function of reading the news- 
papers to the old man and pushing him about in 
his wheel-chair, duties, which had strictly to be 
their own reward. For, far from getting any 
thanks for it, he had, on the contrary, as often 
as not to pocket all sorts of disobliging remarks. 

This phase of his existence lasted two years. 
When the old man at last consented to die, W er- 
ner and Else were both of them quite worn out, 
miserably run down, in a really pitiable con- 
dition. And if Werner felt some relief at the 
occurrence, nobody could blame him. 

When the old man’s affairs came to be settled 
it turned out that what was left to Else was very 
much less than was expected. Her father’s 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


311 


management of his estate, after Werner retired, 
had been simply senseless and destructive, and 
the property had been so diminished in con- 
sequence that it now barely sufficed to keep 
them, Werner and Else, respectably. Indeed, 
they would have been put to it to live quite suit- 
ably to their position, had it not been for some 
property which Werner came into just at that 
time. However, he felt, as far as he was per- 
sonally concerned, nothing but satisfaction at his 
failure to inherit wealth from his wife’s father. 

And now, after this long suspense of his activ- 
ities, in this new state of comparative freedom, 
he hoped and expected that his energies and 
spirits would take a new departure to efficiency 
and cheerfulness. But, alas ! it was not so. In- 
stead of that, he was now to go through even 
worse experiences. 

There came upon him a sort of raging desire 
to distinguish himself, to justify his life to his 
fellow-creatures by some exceptional work, to 
show them, after all, what was in him. 

His first step was to offer himself to a constitu- 
ency for election to the German Parliament. But 
he failed miserably. And he nearly broke down 
altogether under this fresh humiliation. After 
this defeat residence in the Rhine country be- 
came quite intolerable to him. Much as Else 
suffered in giving up the home of her youth, it 
was she who finally proposed, of her own accord, 
to let Krugenberg, and come to stay there only 
for a few summer months, and that they should 
go to reside permanently at Berlin. 


312 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


She had now for a considerable time come to 
see how wrong and unadvisable it had been to 
put a stop to his military career. And, accord- 
ingly, there was nothing in the world which she 
would not have done to put some fresh interest 
in his life. She hated Berlin with all her heart. 
However, that did not signify. She said to her- 
self, in her own cheerful way: “If one of us has 
got to suffer, it had better be I.” 

But if she expected that the change would 
result in the opening of any new field of work to 
W erner, she was quite mistaken, as she saw only 
too soon. And, indeed, how was it to be reason- 
ably looked for that Werner should now find 
part or lot in any of the world’s work, being 
what he had now become? What sort of posi- 
tion, or office, or vocation did he really want , if 
it came to that? He would have been puzzled 
to answer that question exactly if it were driven 
home to him. 

And now came that worst and most deeply de- 
pressed of all the phases of his life, when all his 
efforts to do and be something seemed to him 
futile even to absurdity, and provoked his own 
sardonic laughter. He got it into his head that 
he was a sort of limb amputated from the body 
politic, or general. And, of course, how ridicu- 
lous it was, or would be, for any limb to try to 
grow again as part of a body from which it had 
been surgically separated ! 

So life became to him, in idea, something with 
which he had closed his account forever. Any 
ordinary man would have forced his way into 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


313 


some walk of life, some employment, something 
more than mere passivity; but Werner was no 
ordinary man. He had a certain incurable shy-, 
ness, or reserve, that was quite extraordinary. 
And this defect now increased almost to a nerv- 
ous disease. He hated putting his foot over the 
threshold of his house. Any form of strenuous 
exertion made him almost sick to think of. He no 
longer sought or conceived the possibility of any 
cure of, or issue from, his chronic melancholy. 
In fact, he came to fancy that “melancholy” 
was a principle so inherent in the lot of man that 
any other feeling, any views except the pessi- 
mism it inspires, were simply ridiculous. 

In this perilous passage of his soul his hand 
went, now and again, almost involuntarily, to 
the revolver. But he never went further than 
to play with the edge of that thought. High- 
flyer as he was, a certain Philistine sense of what 
was befitting and respectable, which was in his 
very fibers, would alone have sufficed to keep 
him from doing more, even if there had not 
been his devotion to his wife and his children to 
restrain him. But he asked himself, more and 
n\ore frequently, the question, “What is the use 
of all this torture? what is life good for, any- 
way?” And the more he asked it, the more he 
despaired of any answer. 

Often, in the midst, or worst, of his depression 
there came upon him a wild wish that some over- 
whelming passion of feeling might come to carry 
him off his f&et into action, something which 
should have real grandeur in it, something which 


314 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


should stun men into admiration. Oh! if he 
could but once — once, once feel that he was really 
alive, alive and working, feel it in every fiber, 
every nerve ! Ruin might come after that, if it 
pleased, utter destruction, for aught he cared ! 

But such violent inner movements could not 
be frequent. Routine soon held him unresisting 
in its toils, and his life became little more than a 
walking sleep. 

But — a few days before the moment when we 
find him in the park, that January day — some- 
thing that we know of had come to cause him 
frightful agitation; and yesterday had raised 
that agitation to the highest pitch. How could 
she dare to wound him like that ! He felt his 
ears burning with the recollection of her words, 
as though he had been struck over the face with 
a whip. He was almost beside himself when he 
thought of it. He felt as if he must begin to 
run, run as fast as his feet could carry him, run 
to the ends of the world to get out of men’s sight. 
He felt a crazy impulse to clutch at somebody or 
something — smash, throttle, somebody or some- 
thing ! • 

Then, suddenly, he stood quite still in the 
park. It seemed to him that somebody had put 
a weight of lead on his breast, making all further 
movement impossible. He put his hand to his 
forehead, and asked himself : “Can this be mad- 
ness? Am I ordained for that, too?” 

Then, in the agitation, not so very far from 
madness, after all, of his soul, wild thoughts 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS! 


315 


went through him, more like fragments of a 
dream than thoughts, indeed. He heard the 
rustling sound of Rhine ; he saw the one and the 
same face twice, and with two expressions on it; 
the first time it was cold and mocking, the sec- 
ond time it was soft and tender, with large eyes 
shining with high, enthusiastic purpose. The 
mocking face had vanished utterly, and only the 
tender one was there. He saw it plainly, every 
lineament of it, with a clearness only possible to 
hallucination perhaps, as he had formerly seen it 
in the shadow of that niche at Eltville. He felt 
two little hands on his shoulders, he felt two 
tender lips on his forehead. And, now, he heard 
a sweet, vibrating voice say : 

“Wake, dreamer, wake! You did not think 
it worth your while to come to me, to free me 
from my prison. But lo ! I have come to you, 
to liberate you from your bonds. W ake, dreamer, 
wake!” 

Was that what his soul had been longing for? 
Was that to be the happiness which should raise 
him to the highest level of energetic, passionate 
power ; which was to restore to him that sense of 
boundless power, that region of illimitable hope, 
which had been the privileges of his youth? His 
blood coursed wildly in his veins, every pulse, 
every vein, throbbed as with that earlier force. 

For a moment only. The vision faded. The 
glorious Figure that had come before his mind’s 
eye, the imagined rapture — all, all faded away 
into nothingness ! 

He rubbed his eyes. Where was he? In the 


316 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


too, too real world. In Berlin, in the Charlot- 
tenberg Alley, with a dripping thaw everywhere; 
an unmistakable odor of mud ; a sort of false 
suggestion of the odors of spring ; puddles ; mel- 
ancholy twilight ; the red glimmer of the lamps 
just lighted. 

He stamped violently with his foot. What 
right had she to look down upon him? She, who 
had sold her youth to a man eighty years old? 
She, who now allowed a cynic like Enzendorff to 
hang about her, and coquetted at the same time 
with an empty fool like Linden, to provide well 
for herself and make her social position secure, 
if the worst came to the worst? She! Oh! how 
repulsive, how unclean, how petty was life ! And 
then he murmured gently to himself: “Die, love 
and joy! die, love and light!” 


CHAPTER XXVI. 

At last he turned his steps homeward. As he 
was on the point of entering the yellow parlor he 
b eard a peculiar, slightly veiled, vibrating voice. 
I t pierced him through and through. Could it 
be possible, he asked himself? Yes, he was not 
mistaken. It was the voice of Lena Retz. She 
was seated in one of the easy-chairs, with one 
child on her lap, one at her right and another at 
her left, and was telling the little people a story. 
A single lamp, with a big red shade edged with 
lace, was on the table by the side of which she 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


317 


sat, and its subdued, colored light fell direct on 
the group. Else was absent for the moment. 

He stopped short at the door, and studied with 
a painful attention the young woman’s face and 
figure. She had thrown off her hat and cloak, 
and had obviously come to stay. Her dress was 
plain enough now, some simple woolen material ; 
but when she made a sudden movement there 
was the sound of rustling silk underneath. And 
her pale face changed its expression with won- 
derful quickness from mutinous gayety to soft, 
yielding tenderness. 

It was quite clear that the story with which 
she was absorbing the whole attention of her 
little public was something very remarkable in- 
deed. Little Lizzie, who was not yet turned 
two, was on her knees, and was staring at her 
with all her might, her eyes as wide open as pos- 
sible, and evidently not knowing ivhat to make 
of it. Little Dinchen* who was bj r Lena’s side 
and had thrown her arm round her, was quiver- 
ing with impatience, and her little feet were 
dancing as if she were on hot coals. Rodi, the 
six-year-old boy, a most lovely blonde fellow in 
sailor’s costume of blue, was leaning with both 
arms on the easy- chair in a serious frame of 
mind, and trying to keep his sisters quiet that 
they might hear it all better. 

4 ‘Papa!” suddenly cried little Lizzie, with her 
sweet, small twitter, in a state of high delight. 
Lena was suddenly dumb. 

“Oh, please ! more, more !” beseeched Dinchen, 
folding her hands with a dramatic gesture. “It 


318 CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 

is too interesting!” The child had a wonderful 
way of picking up grown-up people’s expressions. 
“Oft, papa!” she went on, “only think! Tom 
Thumb is riding on a tomcat through Berlin, 
and he’s got him by the whiskers instead of 
reins!” 

Lizzie now clapped her little hands and laughed 
in strong approval of that style of equitation, 
and looked with beaming eyes at papa, expect- 
ing him to laugh too. And lively Dinchen 
hopped first with one foot and then with the 
other, and then all the three of them threw their 
arms round Lena’s neck and almost throttled her 
with their loving caresses, crying: “More, more, 
more!” 

But Lena shook her head. “That must do 
for to-day,” she told the children. “One of these 
days I’ll come and see nobody but you little peo- 
ple; I’ll come to the nursery and stay there. All 
that I can tell you now is*that Tom Thumb soon 
got down from his tomcat a door or two before 
your mamma’s butcher, and sent Tom in there 
to steal a sausage for him. And that must do, 
now!” 

With these words, she held out her hand to 
W erner, without rising from her chair or putting 
little Lizzie off her lap. Her brilliant eyes had 
now quite a different expression; there was a 
peculiar softness in her glance. Its expression 
was almost that of shy entreaty for forgiveness. 

The children drew down the corners of their 
mouths and an outburst of crying was threatened, 
when in came Else. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


319 


“At last you’re back, old man!” she cried; 
and then, with a glance at Lena: “What do you 
say to this delightful surprise I’ve prepared to- 
day for you?” 

“Do you really hold the reins of chance, or 
destiny, in your little hands, Else?” asked Wer- 
ner, in his most amiable tones. The softness in 
Lena’s eyes gave him a faint sense of happiness. 

4 4 Oh ! chance is driven with no reins, and 
obeys no human creature,” said Lena, laugh- 
ingly. “His Highness Chance is the courier of 
Providence for special occasions, and too often 
makes a mess of the messages of his master. 
Else, on this occasion, ^ 41 much less 



important personage 


summons 


that brought me here.” 

c 4 Lena, Lena! take care what you’re about!” 
cried Else. “JSTow don’t you begin with your 
rudeness again. Do you know who the uninter- 
esting emissary really was who left that note for 
you? It was Werner himself!” 

“Was it, really?” laughed Lena. “That’s too 
delightful! Well, you may just as well be in- 
formed of the depth and length of your wife’s 
treachery, Baron Schlitzing! Bo listen!” She 
pulled a note out of her pocket, and read : 

“Dear Lena — I wonder what in the world 
you did, yesterday, to iny poor husband? He’s 
in such a state of mind that I don’t know what 
to do with him. If I could safely have shown 
my nose out of doors, I should have brought the 
children to you, as arranged yesterday, and read 
you a severe lecture for your misdeeds. But, as 


320 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


it is, I can only entreat you, if you have nothing 
better to do, to come this evening to us, and do 
something to make up for your abominable con- 
duct. I couldn’t help seeing last night, at Aunt 
Malva’s, that Werner and you were going quite 
the right way to get quite a wrong idea of one 
another. 

“But I don’t mean to allow it. It would pain 
me. You must learn to know each other better. 
If you can’t come to-day, do to-morrow — any 
time that suits you, to dinner or afterward. I 
am really sick and obliged to stay at home. 

“Thy Else.” 

Lena read this letter in comically pathetic 
tones, emphasizing some words strongly, and 
darting a glance at W erner, now and then. And 
when she had finished she held out her hand to 
him with a sweet smile, and said: “Well, it 
seems that we have no choice in the matter, 
Baron Schlitzing, we must really ‘know each 
other better. ’ The commander-in-chief has issued 
her orders in the affair, and we’d better give in 
with the best grace we can!” 

Werner kissed the hand she held out to him, 
and asked himself how it was that in the last 
quarter of an hour the world seemed to him alto- 
gether changed for the better. 

“Well, this is a famous piece of luck, and I 
think I’ve managed capitally. What a good 
thing that you had no other plans for to-day!” 
said Else, triumphantly. 

‘ ‘ Had I no other plans for to-day ? ’ ’ asked Lena. 

“No! had you, really?” said Else, opening 
her eyes wide. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


321 


“Yes, I had, really!” laughed Lena, “a whole 
heap of other plans ; but none so good as this. ’ ’ 

“Now, Werner — do speak the truth — isn’t she 
nice?” cried Else, patting her friend’s shoulder. 
“There’s nobody in the world can be so nice as 
Lena, when she gives her feelings fair play!” 

His only reply was an awkward smile, and 
Else went on: “And now, tell us, what were all 
those plans for to-day you’ve given up?” 

“Well, first, dinner at the Wesels; then we’d 
planned to go to the opera; then to the French 
Embassy. ’ ’ 

4 ‘ Lena ! it makes my head swim !” interrupted 
Else. “And you mean to say you’ve given up 
all that for a spoiled evening, with a couple of 
tiresome old things like us?” 

“Oh, dear! If you only knew what real de- 
light your few lines gave me!” said Lena, in a 
half- whisper, nestling close to her friend. 

Miss Miller, the children’s nursery-governess, 
now came on the scene to take the little ones to 
supper, and there ensued a quite affecting leave- 
taking. 

One little thing after the other cried to the 
new aunt: “You’ll come again soon, won’t you 
■ — quite soon? You’ve promised to come to the 
nursery for us, for nobody else; don’t forget !” 
At last they got the little pack out of the room. 

‘ 4 And now, Lena, ’ ’ Else entreated — she seemed 
bent on showing her friend off — “if you are really 
nice you’ll play us something on the piano. Why, 
she plays wonderfully, Werner! Haven’t I told 
you about it? No? Really! Well, if she’s 


322 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


good she’ll let you see for yourself. My husband 
loves music above everything, and the poor little 
tinkle, which is all that I can bring out of the 
keys, is very unsatisfactory to him. Now, Lena, 
please play!” 

“Oh! if it will give you any pleasure, I will, 
gladly,” said Lena. “But my hand is out of 
order, quite out,” she pointed to the fourth finger 
of her right hand. “However, as my good will 
is great, and your indulgence, no doubt, quite as 
great, we’ll try what we can do, anyway.” 

She seated herself at the piano, which Werner 
had politely opendd for her. 

It was a fine Bechstein grand, with a warm, 
singing tone. It had been a wedding-present to 
Else, and very little used; it was nearly as good 
as new. 

She began a prelude of Chopin, quite piano, 
and rather unsteadily. 

She was no consummate artist, but she had 
qualities often wanting in female artists of the 
greatest distinction who, too frequently, seem to 
be bent chiefly on proving that they can get 
quite as much noise out of the instrument as any 
man of them all. But Lena did not care in the 
least about playing like a “man”; quite other- 
wise. Her playing was feminine to a degree; 
seductive, tender ; and her touch was lovely, at 
once light and yet deeply penetrating. She 
seemed, if one might so speak, to coax the sounds 
out of the keys. Unfortunately, she jumbled 
the more bravura passages a little. Her playing 
was unequal, consisted of elements not adjusted 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


323 


to a complete, harmonious whole. It was so with 
her, throughout, poor girl ! 

After the prelude, she gave them a nocturne. 
And then took her hands from the keys. 

“Oh, goon!” cried Else; “don’t be so stingy ! 
Isn’t it true, Werner — doesn’t she play charm- 
ingly?” 

“Nay, Else! don’t put a pistol to your hus- 
band’s head, like that!” said Lena, with ablush. 
She was getting excited. 

“Nay, nay, countess, do pray grant me your 
gracious permission to speak my mind for my- 
self !” cried Werner, who began to thaw. 

‘ ‘ Well, then ? ’ ’ She looked mockingly at him. 

“Oh! if you question me in that tone you’ll 
scare me so that my thoughts won’t be able to 
come at all!” he replied. “I can only say that 
I’m simply charmed with your playing — simply 
charmed!” 

“She plays much more prettily than Ryder- 
Srnythe,” pronounced Else; “isn’t it true, AVer- 
ner?” 

“Certainly the countess gives me far greater 
pleasure,” he replied. “The American youth’s 
performance seems to me like that of an ourang- 
outang, or gorilla of genius ; or, at all events, 
like what an animal of that species might con- 
ceivably be brought to do under some supernat- 
ural training. The gorilla would have all the 
distracting fluency, cleverness and brute force 
that Ryder- Smy the has. But he has not a par- 
ticle of tenderness, true sentiment, idealism — all, 
in a word, that constitutes the difference between 


324 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


man and other animals. Instead of all that, he 
has a certain demoniac fire, a certain complacent 
violence. He treats the piano like some sort of 
living creature which it gives him pleasure to 
ill-treat, while the countess — ” He stopped 
suddenly. 

“While If" she asked, teasingly. “Oh, dear! 
my poor little playing doesn’t give any room for 
saying any more of such clever things, I’m 
afraid!” 

Werner turned red, and Else said: “Don’t 
upset him like that again! I’m quite sure he 
was going to say something quite nice to you ; 
and now you’ve put it out of his head!” 

“Oh, Heavens! what a pity! Can’t you think 
of it again, Baron Schlitzing?” coaxed Lena. 
“I am so fond of having nice things said to me!” 

He could not help smiling. “Well, you caress 
the piano with a sort of tender, compassionate 
embrace, as if it were some soul in prison which 
could find its voice only under your liberating 
hand.” 

“Now, wasn’t that charmingly said?” cried 
Else, looking up at her husband in high admira- 
tion. 

Lena only laughed, and Werner said: “I had 
not the least idea how gentle and tender you 
could be before I heard you play ; and now I ask 
myself whether you are capable, under any cir- 
cumstances, of treating a human being as well 
as you do the piano?” 

The young man had had a good deal of prac- 
tice in phrase-making, of the sweet variety, in 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


325 


his intercourse with the “intellectual” ladies, 
previously mentioned; and he availed himself 
of it now. 

Lena looked at him curiously and reflectively. 
But, instead of replying, she started off with a 
melancholy andante from onq of Schubert’s so- 
natas; and then modulated into Schumann’s C 
Major Fantasia. The weakness of her fingers 
was quite unmistakable in the more difficult pas- 
sages of that very difficult work. Her hand 
might almost be said to limp a little. But there 
was a certain charm even in this little defect. It 
was something like a little lisp in the utterance 
of a beautiful and thoughtful woman. 

Her playing took such hold of Werner that he 
drew near, and threw himself into a chair where 
he could see her face as she played. Its expres- 
sion had become much more intense and oblivious 
of outer things. She was paler than ever, and 
her eyes were half closed. Her mouth trembled 
slightly with repressed tenderness. There was 
not a particle of grimace or affectation in her 
whole bearing. 

And, as he gazed upon her, he could not help 
strongly thinking that, restless, vivacious, un- 
certain creature as she seemed, all her soul might 
possibly, under some circumstances, be envel- 
oped wholly by some flame of unusual strength, 
light and warmth, some fire that might really 
deserve to be described as noble and sacred. 

Then, all of a sudden, he felt a constriction of 
his throat. Why, why could he not help recall- 
ing to his mind, now again, that union of hers 


326 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


with an aged, outworn spouse? Why would it 
come up again and spoil the image of her alto- 
gether? 

One might almost fancy that Xiena felt at once 
that some sentiment, antipathetic and hostile to 
her, was in the air, and not far off. Her play- 
ing became confused, and in a few moments she 
found it impossible to go on. She took her hands 
from the keys with an impatient little sigh, and 
looking with surprise at Werner, said: “Oh, 
what a gloomy countenance! What are you 
thinking of? The agreeable things I said to you 
last night? Well, I was very sorry for them 
afterward, I was indeed, I had no right to jump 
to unkind conclusions about you like that, with- 
out knowing any particulars of the case. I see 
that, and I’ve been very amiable, unusually 
amiable for me, in my- efforts to atone for my 
headlong utterances. But they seem to have 
missed the mark with you. It’s quite clear that 
it’s only for Else’s sake that you can bring your- 
self to treat me with a little humanity. Directly 
her back is turned, you’re just as bad as ever!” 

“Nay, I beg of you, countess!” . 

“But where is Else?” asked Lena. It was 
quite clear that it gave her small satisfaction, 
just now, to be alone with him. 

“Else is gone in to the little ones. She always 
makes a last tourney of inspection in the nursery 
after the imps have been put to bed.” 

“Take me to the children. I should like to 
bid them good-night too, ’ ’ begged Lena. 

“Another time, Lena,” cried Else, who came 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


327 


in at that moment and heard her friend’s re- 
quest. “The brats are pretty well asleep by now, 
and supper is served. Supper, ladies and gen- 
tlemen, supper. Give Lena your arm, Werner. 
I hope she feels quite at home and will enjoy it. 
It’s quite true I haven’t much to tempt her with. ” 

No, it was not much: Tea, cold meat, baked 
potatoes, butter from Nassau — wonderful fresh 
butter — Rhenish fruit compotes and preserved 
apricots. But how comfortable it all looked 
under the hanging lamp, how cozy and sweet ! 

Lena’s eyes were riveted to the table as though 
she had never seen the like before. She was 
enchanted with all this homely comfortableness, 
and could not find words sufficiently fond and 
kind to express her delight. 

“How funny you are!” laughed Else. “You 
seem just as astonished at our simple domestic 
arrangements as anybody else would be at the 
greatest rarities on earth!” 

“But it is the greatest of rarities to me,” said 
Lena. “You can’t think how sweet this domestic 
atmosphere is to me, and how comfortable I feel 
here in your house, Else ! I have lived through 
so much and seen so much, no doubt ! I have 
had privileges that I never dreamed of, have be- 
cjme personally acquainted with so many inter- 
esting people, with a goodly half of the celebrities 
and personages of Europe, I may say ; but there 
is one thing I never have had in all my life. 
And that is a share in what is the greatest lux- 
ury of all, the warmth and poetry of true domes- 
tic life. I’ve been a more or less frozen- up creat- 


328 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


ure in the midst of all that splendor, and I’m only 
too thankful to have the chance of thawing a 
little at your warm hearth!” The tears came 
into her eyes as she said this, but she laughed 
off her emotion at once, and, turning to Else, 
said: “Another potato, Else, child. I don’t 
think there’s anything in this world quite so good 
as a baked potato, and I’m as hungry as a sol- 
dier after a big fight. Isn't a soldier always 
very hungry after a big fight, baron? You 
ought to know, who were one of the performers 
in the great German drama of 1870. You were,' 
weren’t you?” 

“Certainly, countess,” he answered, with a 
smile. “I made one in that campaign; and I 
feel warranted, therefore, in asking you to speak 
a little more respectfully of that greatest mo- 
ment of the century ; at least, so far as our Ger- 
many is concerned.” 

“Oh! I didn’t mean any disrespect to it, in- 
deed I didn’t!” said Lena. 

“I’m glad to have your assurance of that,” 
said Werner; “without that I should not have 
felt at all certain.” 

“Oh, your great German campaign is some- 
thing which, of course, impresses me to the ut- 
most, as must one of the most wonderful episodes 
in all history. But all war is a mere horror to 
me, nothing but a horror, a horror!” she ex- 
claimed. 

“And to me too,” agreed Else, with a shudder. 

“But for all that,” continued Lena, “I’m very 
glad that I’ve come into the world before that 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


329 


age so many long for, when all danger of wars 
will have been set aside forever. Those privi- 
leged times, I expect, if they ever come, will 
witness a great decline in the level of masculine 
force and character. For, after all, the most 
attractive masculine quality is courage, to me, at 
least. Perhaps the reason of that is that I’m the 
most cowardly creature myself in the world. ’ ’ 

Werner laughed, and Else asked: “Another 
egg, Lena?” 

“Please,” replied Lena, holding out her hand 
for it, and then, as she cracked the shell with her 
little silver spoon: “That's settled. War is a 
horrible thing. Don’t you think so, Baron 
Schlitzing?” 

“Fo; I think it’s a very fine thing indeed !” 
said Werner. 

“Oh, well! when a man has staked his life on 
the game, as you have, he has a sort of right to 
think so and say so,” said Lena; “and as you 
may very probably have a chance of doing so 
more than once before you die, I’ll overlook the 
barbarism of your views. I suppose you did feel 
nothing but exaltation of mind when you were 
in the thick of it all, judging from what you 
said just now?” 

“Yes, indeed! nothing but exaltation; and 
I’ll say that as strongly as I can, at the risk of 
encountering your ridicule, countess,” Werner 
observed, somewhat awkwardly. “I was twenty 
years old then — let that serve as some excuse for 
my illusions — the words Fatherland, Country, 
were somewhat new to us then : we Germans had 


330 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


had no better word than ‘home’ in our mouths 
for some time. And the long and the short of 
it is that those words ‘Fatherland,’ ‘Country,’ 
worked like magic on my imagination. I was 
penetrated through and through by a sense of the 
sacredness of our purpose in that campaign, of 
the grandeur of the national uprising; I was 
proud to have a share in so great a work, it made 
me feel important in my own eyes. Just try to 
realize all that, countess. A twenty-year- old 
ensign, proud of a share in a national uprising, 
giving himself airs in consequence ! Why, you 
can’t help laughing at the idea, can you, count- 
ess?” 

Werner had never lost his fear of seeming ri- 
diculous. 

“What do you expect me to laugh at?” asked 
Lena. 

“Why, at the idea that there ever was a 
moment in my life when I could seem of any 
importance to myself ! ’ ’ said W erner. Then, 
shrugging his shoulders, he added: “That’s a 
blunder I never fall into now, I assure you!” 

‘ ‘ W ell, I think you make a very great mistake 
in that!” said Lena, in a tone of humorous re- 
monstrance . “We never should accomplish any- 
thing, on a small or a large scale, if we didn’t 
attribute a little importance to ourselves when 
about it. That notion of self-importance has a 
root of madness in it, if pushed too far ; but, after 
all, it’s the only thing that saves humanity from 
creeping about on all fours. The madness I 
speak cf is known in the vernacular as Idealism. ’ ’ 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


331 


“Oh! my Idealism is all spent and gone!” 
said Werner, gloomily. “It’s some time now 
since I did anything else but creep about on all 
fours.” 

“Werner! how can you say such horrible 
things?” cried Else, reproachfully. 

“Why, what would you have?” he grumbled. 
“It’s nothing but the simplest truth. I generally 
keep it to msyelf ; but sometimes it will out, in 
spite of me! Then” — he went on, without ob- 
serving how deadly pale his little wife had 
grown — “if anybody had foretold to me then, in 
that year seventy, what a pitiful Philistine I 
should develop into, I should have thought he 
raved. Father of mercies ! how glorious it was 
then ! It was the most glorious epoch of my life, 
quite!” 

‘ ‘ W erner ! ’ ’ said Else, faintly. 

How he looked closely at her. “What’s the 
matter with you?” he asked. “What makes you 
look so wretchedly, all of a sudden?” 

“How can I help looking wretched, when I 
hear you say such things?” she murmured. 

“What things? All that about the war?” he 
exclaimed. “Oh, you mustn’t take it so, you 
dear little affectionate lamb, you ! All that has 
nothing to do with the happiness I’ve had with 
you, old woman. You ought to know that well 
enough ! But the war was fine, grand ; I really 
can’t help saying so. Hot merely because of the 
victories, and of the glory it brought us. Ho, 
its real grandeur was for quite other reasons, 
quite! We all of us rose far, far out of our na- 


332 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


tive mediocrity in that memorable time,’ ’ he ex- 
claimed; “all our thoughts, all our sentiments, 
took on a largeness and grandeur of which ordi- 
nary life knows nothing. That radical, under- 
lying grandeur of humanity, which one has to 
take on trust in times of peace without seeing 
anything of it, we then saw manifesting itself a 
hundred times every day. We really then had 
a chance for once in our lives of seeing to what 
a pitch of intensity man’s greatness of soul may 
be wrought, to what tension its strings may be 
drawn without snapping. People speak of the 
brutal coarseness of war, and how it degrades 
man to the level of the beasts. Well, I can only 
testify that I never was one of such an im- 
mense mass of my fellow-men, in whom all the 
lower sentiments were all but so entirely wiped 
out; envy, vanity, self-seeking, covetousness, 
and all that. While it was only a bare three 
weeks after peace had been proclaimed when you 
saw all those ugly tendencies working again as 
actively as ever, in spite of all that enthusiasm. 
Why, when the war was going on we never 
thought of such basenesses! It was ‘each for 
all, and all for Fatherland!’ ” 

When Werner uttered these spirited observa- 
tions he seemed quite a changed creature. He 
looked seven years younger. And every moment 
seemed to transform him more and more back 
again to the image of that young idealist, with 
the warm blood coursing through his veins, whom 
a pale girl in parting from had, in the overflow 
of her grateful soul, kissed on the forehead. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


33*3 


And this was really the first time, since he had 
come together with Lena again, that he could be 
said to have addressed an observation directly to 
herself. 

But # Else, on the other hand, was quite dis- 
tressed and uneasy at this retrospective enthu- 
siasm of his. “Don’t agitate yourself so,” she 
entreated. “You won’t have a wink of .sleep 
again all night !*’ 

But he had begun, and nothing could stop 
him. “Oh, what does it signify whether I sleep 
or not ? ” he exclaimed. “ I ’ ve slept away nearly 
half my life, as it is ! It does me all the good 
in the world to think and talk over those times 
again. It’s the only time in my life, at least, 
when I, in my modest sphere, was able to do 
something, to be something, to accomplish some- 
thing ! And we men must have some field of 
activity or other, if we are not — ” 

He stopped short, with a startled movement. 
Else had suddenly burst into tears. 

“If you had read Jean Paul, my Else, you’d 
have known this much which you don’t quite 
yet,” said Lena, trying, a little awkwardly it 
must be confessed, to jest the matter off. “ ‘ Wo- 
man’s life can be quite well filled with loving, 
but man must be up and at something else at 
intervals, besides.’ ” 

“It’s a great pity, then, that I didn’t read up 
Jean Paul before it was too late !” observed Else. 

The general amiability and good temper were 
certainly somewhat imperiled, and might have 
failed miserably and altogether, had not Else’s 


334 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


thoughts been suddenly diverted from the pain- 
ful direction they had taken by the entry of the 
man-servant, who handed her a parcel. It was 
two hours since it arrived, he said, but the maid 
who took it in had forgotten it. 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

Else turned the parcel about in every direc- 
tion and examined the handwriting of the ad- 
dress. Then she suddenly gave a little wild 
cry of delight. “From Asta, from Frankfurt!” 
she exclaimed. “It’s the horseshoe cakes! She 
always sends me horseshoe cakes as a me- 
mento about this season. Please cut the string, 
Werner. That’s it!” 

And then she began to unwrap something 
very industriously from rustling paper, which 
proved to be cakes, shaped like a horseshoe and 
with a glaze of sugar on them. The poor things 
looked as if they had suffered a good deal on the 
journey, and the sugar glaze, particularly, had 
almost entirely crumbled off. But that did not 
prevent Else welcoming them with every mani- 
festation of delight, and she broke off a piece of 
one of them without delay and bit into it with 
her sound white teeth. 

“Won’t you try some, Lena?” asked Else. 

“Thanks, no. After your good supper I’ve no 
fancy for stale biscuits,” replied Lena. 

“They taste splendid,” said Else, gravely. 

“Yes, they taste of your youth,” said Werner, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


855 


tapping his young wife’s cheek, on which the 
tears were still hanging. He would have liked 
to set the “horseshoes” in a gilt frame, so grate- 
ful was he to them for dissipating the little burst 
of misery which he had so imprudently occa- 
sioned. 

“He’s quite right,” said Else, with great 
seriousness. “Those horseshoe cakes have a 
history attached to them. Oh, you know it, 
Lena?” 

“Indeed I don’t, not a bit.” 

“Well. Horseshoe cakes were my first love, 
they were indeed.” 

“Really?” asked Lena, much amused. “What 
do you say to that, Baron Schlitzing?” 

“Oh, I don’t think it will furn out as bad as 
it looks, countess,” laughed Werner. “But tell 
us all about it, darling.” 

“I don’t quite like to, before Lena,” said the 
young woman, with a roguish look that showed 
she meant anything but what she said. 

“Oh, I say, Else!” laughed her husband. 

“Well, then, on your responsibility,” she said, 
and went on: “I was fourteen years old then, 
and at a boarding-scho 1 at Frankfurt, and 
I had quite a passion for horseshoe cakes and 
very little pocket-money. Besides, it was strictly 
forbidden to smuggle sweets into the school. 
It was then that I made my first conquest — our 
writing-master. He was a big, red-haired fel- 
low, and he had his red hair arranged in a sort 
of screw over his forehead, and he wore blue 
spectacles and green cravats in the bargain. 


336 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


He used to give me such sentimental, sidelong 
looks that it was not long before all my school- 
fellows used to make merry over his ‘enamored 
glances,’ as they called them, Asta first and 
foremost. She was my greatest friend just 
then. It was she who betrayed to him my 
passion for horseshoe cakes. Then, goodness 
knows how it all happened, I don’t now; one 
day, the beginning of March it was, I was 
taking the air as innocently as you please in 
the chestnut avenue — and Asta was with me — 
and there came the writing-master. He had a 
big parcel in his hand, and he gave me a glance 
which, I am sure, was enough to melt the very 
spectacles on his nose. He untied the parcel, and 
the smell of the horseshoe cakes — delightful 
things! — reached me at once, and — well, to cut it 
short, and you may just think about it as you 
please, I bought those horseshoe cakes with a 
kiss. Yes, it’s a fact. I gave him a kiss, and 
wiped my mouth with my pocketr handkerchief 
without a moment’s delay. And I assure you 
the cakes were delicious. Then we made a 
treaty. Every Saturday afternoon he was to 
bring me horseshoe cakes, and he was to get 
one kiss for them, and Asta was witness to the 
compact. Then, one Saturday afternoon he 
comes along without horseshoe cakes; hadn’t 
been able to get any, and yet he wanted his 
kiss. But I was quite firm. ‘Certainly not,’ I 
said; ‘no cakes, no kiss!’ And then we made 
him a deep courtesy, Asta and I, and ran off 
laughing so that we didn’t know what to do 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


337 


with ourselves. And when the others saw us 
they insisted upon knowing what was up, and 
we told them; and there was every girl in the 
school laughing till they could hardly stand. 
Hm! But the sad thing was that the thing 
came to Madame’s ears, and the writing-master 
was sent to the right-about. I got off with a 
severe lecture. But my passion for horseshoe 
cakes is so well known, that whenever I show 
my face in Frankfurt I’m regularly snowed 
under with horseshoe cakes, like Tarpeia was 
with the bracelets; and we all still have a good 
laugh about the price at which I sold my first 
kiss — cheap, wasn’t it? for a horseshoe. But 
I tell you I think I made a very good thing out 
of that trade.” 

Else had reeled off her little story, with all 
her simple, natural drollery, without taking 
any notice of her friend’s face, and now looked 
up at it. But she didn’t find there the unquali- 
fied amusement she expected. 

“Why, you don’t laugh at all!” she exclaimed ; 
and then, turning to her husband : “I’ve shocked 
her, I knew I should.” 

“No, no, no!” cried Lena. “I’m not so 
stupid as that comes to. Shall I tell you, Else, 
what I was thinking about while you were tell- 
ing us your little story?” 

“Well, what?” asked Else, still somewhat 
puzzled, and almost put out in consequence. 

“I was thinking of the difference in our bring- 
ing up. When I was fourteen years old I had 
already grown too far out of simple childhood 


338 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS, 


to be able to give my writing-master a kiss for 
cakes. A kiss was always something that meant 
mountains, even when — ” 

Else, still somewhat irritated, did not let her 
finish her sentence, but struck in: “Well, then, 
if that’s so, it makes me all the more curious t3 
know, if you please, who it was that got your 
first kiss.” 

Werner could not help it. His eyes fastened 
themselves on Lena directly, and all the blood 
shot into her face. The scarlet blush made her 
look quite young again, as young as on that day 
in Eltville, when he held her dripping form in 
his arms and warmed her back to life again on 
his breast. 

“My first kiss — ” she stammered, confusedly, 
and could go no further. 

Then Else leaned forward with both her 
elbows on the table, and asked defiantly: “Do 
you really mean to say that you kept it for your 
husband?” 

Lena recoiled with a quick shiver, just as if 
she had received a sudden blow. She drew a 
deep breath before she could bring out a word, 
and then said: “The first kiss Count Retz had 
from me, was when he was on his death-bed.” 
Then, avoiding Werner’s eyes and Else’s both, 
and fixing her gaze on the table-cloth, she went 
on — her throat showing marked signs of con- 
striction as she did so— “Yes, for the first time 
it was, when he was taking leave of me forever. 
We had become much attached to each other. 
And, before the end, he said that it was a great 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


339 


grief to him that I was not his daughter. But 
I hardly felt any difference, adopted child of his 
though I only was. I mourned him and missed 
him as if he had really been my father.” She 
rose from her seat. “And now, good- night, 
Else,” said she, drawing the young woman to 
her bosom; “good-night, and accept my hearty 
thanks for having me here to-night. Such a 
pleasure has been a rare thing in my life. Don’t 
be too sorry for it, hereafter, that you have 
afforded me the gratification.” 

“Too sorry for it!” cried Else. “How could 
that ever, ever be possible.” She was terribly 
ashamed and cast down now. “Oh, forgive me, 
Lena, forgive me!” 

“I have nothing to forgive,” said Lena, clasp- 
ing and kissing her again. “God protect you, 
my angel ! ” 

, “And you must come again soon, quite, quite 
soon!” Else entreated, in her most coaxing way. 

“Yes, indeed, quite soon, if you will permit 
me!” said Lena. “Why, you haven’t the least 
idea how delightful it is to me to come! And 
now, adieu!” 

“ISTo, no; wait till the servant fetches a car- 
riage for you!” begged Else. 

“Oh, such a few steps it is to the hotel, I can 
walk very well! The streets are well lighted, 
and I’m fond of walking.” 

“Well, Brunn (their servant) must go with 
you,” decided Else, reaching to the bell. 

“Will you permit me to escort you?” said 
Werner. “It will give me pleasure, and I’m 


340 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


afraid Brunn won’t care for it at all.” His 
eyes seemed filled with sympathy. 

“Oh, well, if you put it that way — ” Lena 
shrugged her shoulders and smiled. 

“How prettily he behaves to you! I never 
saw him behave so nicely before,” said Else. 
“I am so pleased that you are beginning to get 
on well together. Now, come again soon, Lena, 

I entreat you, as soon as possible. ’ ’ 

The same odorous breath of spring, which 
had been merely pain to Werner that afternoon 
in the park, was in the trees of the squares when 
they emerged from the Leipzig Place — Werner 
and the young woman. In the afternoon it 
had distressed him; now he drank large draughts 
of it with satisfaction. 

The sky was one light cloud, mist rather than 
cloud, and the light of the stars penetrated it 1 
easily. 

At first they went along, side by side, with- 
out a word. Then Lena looked up to Werner 
suddenly, and said: “Baron Schlitzing, this 
evening has taught me that my conduct to you 
last night was not merely ill-bred, but positively 
unfair and unjust. And, after this frank con- 
fession, will you allow me the privilege of put- 
ting a question to you?” 

“All the questions in the world,' countess.” 

“Well, then, how was it that you gave up 
your military career, loving that vocation as 
you did?” 

“How was it?” he repeated, hoarsely. “That’s 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


341 


a long story. Else was quite miserable in Ber- 
lin; she couldn’t stand the climate; she was like 
a dear little transplanted tree, and couldn’t 
thrive in the new soil.” 

“So it was purely on Else’s account that you 
left^the service?” 

“She entreated me to do so.” 

“And if you had refused?” 

“She would have submitted; but I should 
have caused her much suffering.” 

Lena Retz opened her eyes wide. “What a 
thing to say! Do you suppose that any one can 
go through life preserving strength and integrity 
of character without causing suffering to some- 
body? The bitterest trials which a man of worth 
has to undergo are precisely those which come 
from the duty or necessity of paining those he 
most loves. Weakness is always most danger- 
ous in us when its nearest neighbor is goodness 
of heart.” 

“Yes; but — ” said Werner, “but in the case 
we’re speaking of, where there was no clear 
right or wrong; I ,was puzzled to know what 
was my duty.” 

“Your duty was- to look the consequences of 
any course you took square in the face, and to 
make up your mind whether you had strength 
to bear them,” said Lena, reflectively. “And 
I think that is so whenever you take some step 
of more than usual importance. But, how 
awfully I’m preaching to you! Please don’t 
laugh at me!” 

“Oh, pray, countess, quite the contrary, I 


342 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


assure you! You’ve no idea how much good 
that serious tone of yours does me. I should like 
always to see you as serious as that. And, besides, 
I should be so thankful to tell you all about my 
life, thankful for you to understand it. I can’t 
do that with Else; she has pain enough without 
that. Poor angel! So I swallow it all, all the 
time, and it makes me ill, quite ill. If I were 
not afraid of boring you, 1 should like to tell 
you the whole story from top to bottom. And 
then you’d see how it is that bit by bit I’ve 
become such a pitiful, contemptible loafer, how 
little I can help it, and how much I suffer under 
it.” 

“I look forward to your telling me all about 
it,” she replied. “I couldn’t help being quite 
wretchedly sorry for you when you said all 
that about tho war. But you are still so young. 
You surely will be able to discover some sure 
and firm direction for your life. The suffering 
you complain of cannot be more than transitory, 
it will surely pass.” 

He looked at her gratefully. She spoke with 
such heartfelt sincerity and conviction that he 
wanted badly to believe it was as she said, al- 
most, indeed, did so. And, even if what she 
prophesied could not be, it was a comfort to 
hear such things. 

“Perhaps you will be able to discover some 
medicine for my sick life,” he said; and she 
answered, sweetly: 

“Well, I’ll try.” . 

By this time they were in the hall of th 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


343 


hotel. She was just about to enter the eleva- 
tor when she looked back at him over her shoul- 
der and laughed: “ What do you say to this? 
It’s just come into my head: I was to dance the 
cotilion to-night at the French Embassy with 
Enzendorff, and Linden was to take me in to 
supper! What excuse am I to give?” 

“You must say that you were suddenly taken 
ill,” laughed Werner. He was as pleased as a 
child. 

“ Nothing of the sort. I shall say that I gos- 
siped with Else and you till it was too late — let 
come what will. Telling fibs is not in my line 
at all. Good-night!” 

She stepped into the elevator and was carried 
off, as if by magic, if seemed to his fancy. And 
“Good-night” she called to him again in her 
vibrating voice as she shot up, and he looked up 
the shaft and exclaimed : 

“Good-night!” 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

From that evening Lena’s intercourse with the 
Schlitzings was that of a member of the family 
rather than of a friend, so close and confidential 
was it. Hardly a day passed without her com- 
ing in, for one reason or another. The simple, 
unpretending delight it gave her to partake of 
the domestic life of her friends, and her gratitude 
to them for the privilege of being one of them, 
would have been quite moving to any one ac- 


344 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


quainted with all the facts ; but it would have 
been even more alarming to any one deeply 
versed in knowledge of the human heart. 

Very soon she was quite as much at home in 
the nursery as Else herself. She could spend 
hours in telling stories to the little ones, playing 
at dolls and soldiers with them ; and wonderfully 
dramatic and intense were the situations she in- 
vented for developing and displaying the char- 
acters of Miss Doll and Mr. Soldier. When any 
one of the children fell sick, she installed herself 
at its little bed and petted and nursed it as if she 
were its mother. She generally turned up at 
half-past nine in the morning, to see little Lizzie 
giggle and scream and splash in her bath. And 
it was her greatest delight when she was allowed 
to perform all the rest of the ceremony herself, 
to take the little white, kicking thing out of the 
water, rub its little body dry, and, at last, after 
no end of kissing and teasing, tuck it up in its 
warm little bed again. Poor Lena ! 

And she lavished the same indefatigable and 
motherly tenderness on the young mother too. 
She managed to procure her all sorts of amuse- 
ments, introduced her to leading personages, 
dragged her out of her mouse-hole— as Lena 
called it — and forced her to go out and enjoy 
herself. She overhauled all Else’s wardrobe. 
Else could scarcely be said to have gone out into 
the world at all since her father’s illness began, 
and all her things were old-fashioned and 
smacked of Wiesbaden; while Lena was fresh 
from Paris. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


345 


Berlin, np to this time, had not at all real- 
ized how beautiful Else Schlitzing really was. 
Else herself had had no idea of it. She was in- 
nocently delighted with the conquests she now 
made, and with the general homage she received ; 
but her greatest pleasure was always in thinking 
what Werner would say to it. 

She was now “celebrated” as she had never 
been since the days when the Pearl of the Tau- 
nus was the spoiled favorite — no, nothing could 
spoil Else — of all Rhineland. And the Rhine- 
landers in Berlin were, naturally, those who took 
the chiefest pride in their Queen Else, and made 
a little guard of honor, attending upon her 
wherever she showed herself. 

Lena’s delight at her friend’s success knew no 
bounds. She never seemed to care for herself at 
all, or give a thought to her toilet. 

She never seemed to suspect that she always 
looked like a great picture from a master-hand, 
the picture of an aristocrat of the first water, all 
the more wonderful because of a dash of gipsy 
poetry which heightened her aristocratic flavor. 
Or, if she had any suspicion of her imposing 
appearance, no one could guess it, so little im- 
portance did she seem to attach to the admiring 
enthusiasm which followed her everywhere. She 
received the attentions of which she was the ob- 
ject with equal seeming indifference — Linden’s 
homage, so' evidently that of a suitor for her 
hand, and Enzendorff’s more ambiguous but 
impassioned enthusiasm. Her own sex, in their 
envy of her, stamped her as a coquette, a cold 


"46 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


coquette, too, said the ladies. Perhaps their 
anger was founded mainly on the circumstance 
that they were obliged to stick to envy, whereas 
they would so very much have preferred con- 
tempt. 

Else was always foremost in defending her 
friend from both charges, of coldness and of 
coquetry. 

“There isn’t in all Berlin a more affectionate 
and unpretending person than my Lena!” she 
insisted. And well Else knew it. Wasn’t Lena 
ready to give up a cotilion with a prince of the 
blood any evening, to spend it in simple, quiet, 
affectionate talk with Else and her Werner? 

That, on such occasions, Werner’s attention 
was entirely taken up by Lena didn’t jar on Else 
in the least. On the contrary, she was glad to 
see that he could talk freely again to somebody, 
delighted beyond measure at his increased cheer- 
fulness since Lena was so much with them. And 
she was too inexperienced to know that all rem- 
edies, for all situations, which are so very drastic 
and quick in their operation, are apt to have 
disastrous after-effects. 

And Werner, too, would have been infuriated 
if anybody had ventured to draw his attention 
to the fact that, in his relations with Lena, he 
was traveling somewhat dangerously near to re- 
gions of feeling which are all danger. He sin- 
cerely believed that his feeling for her was one 
of honest comradeship, so to speak. She was no 
more than a good comrade, with whom it was, 
he. quite admitted to himself, pleasant to be ; but 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


347 


that point was merely accidental; she was a 
good friend, to whom he was able to pour out 
his heart ; to whom he was able to show how 
and why it was that his life was such a failure 
and mess ; who was able to bring to all he said a 
man’s intelligence, which was very agreeable, 
and a woman’s sympathy, which was very much 
more so. 

He found that she incited him to renewal of 
endeavor, and, yet more, to renewal of hope. 
His interest in men and things, which had all 
but died out, began to revive. 

He never tired of chatting with her. Her cul- 
ture and her education were really deep and 
wide ; but the great point of all was her native 
intelligence, so unusually clear and strong. Her 
judgment was almost unfailing, and it was 
wholly free from pedantic self-sufficiency, being 
at once serious and surprisingly quick, and very 
pleasant in its manifestations. And her criti- 
cisms being, as often as not, wrapped up in 
what looked like witty nonsense, never offended. 

In fact, she was so mortally afraid of anything 
like preaching, any sort of intellectual preten- 
tiousness, everything which, in England, people 
call, shortly, “priggishness,” that she sometimes 
fell into the opposite extreme of grotesqueness 
and caricature in her ways of putting things. 
But this defect in her, if it was such, soon 
ceased. She became simpler and simpler every 
day; the pattern of her became less and less 
motley; the brilliancy was subdued; and her 
spirit seemed to soften and, by the same process, 


348 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


become gradually endowed with a more peaceful 
and higher illumination. 

There was scarcely a thing which W erner was 
not able freely to discuss with her. In the close 
society of Count Retz, one of the keenest intel- 
lects of his time, she had thoroughly learned the 
distinction between true and false modesty, be- 
tween true feeling and affected. And his teach- 
ings herein did no more than develop her own 
natural bent. She had eyes which were inex- 
orably acute to observe any moral situations 
open to criticism ; but her charity for offenders 
against social rules was great ; flavored, however, 
with the contempt inevitable in the case of any 
woman who holds the flag of morality as high 
as possible, and recoils with disgust from the 
bare idea of its infraction ; as was the case with 
Lena Retz. 

Her opinions, on all political and social sub- 
jects, were anti-revolutionary all round. In 
fact, she was so conservative that she was all 
but Philistine on this side of her mind. She 
saw human weaknesses in the dry light of pure 
judgment, and never failed to insist that they 
should be handled with a gentle but a prudent 
and firm restraint. For any poor, shrinking 
sinners of her sex who made no boast of them- 
selves, but very much the contrary, she had al- 
ways some word of tender and compassionate 
pity. But for the high-flying women of culture 
and position, who traded in theories of the pas- 
sions, and were always on the lookout for some- 
thing to “ satisfy their hearts,” she had the 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


349 


deepest disgust. And endless was the scorn she 
poured upon such creatures in her talks with 
Werner. Those who knew her only superficially 
were usually made quite uncomfortable by the 
apparent predominance of her head over her 
heart. But her heart flew to her head very easily ; 
and, then, she permitted herself a little debauch 
of emotion, in which she would enchant every- 
body by her lavish and warm display of feeling. 
There was generally a speedy reaction after this, 
when she was drier and more sober than ever, 
and was quite angry with herself for letting her 
heart get out oil her sleeve as she had done. But, 
in spite of these occasional and brief outbursts, 
Werner was disposed to agree, in some measure, 
with the Berlin ladies who pronounced her cold. 
However, he did so with an important differ- 
ence. Her “coldness” was no defect in his eyes; 
rather one of her merits. It was equivalent to 
sobriety and judgment, and of specially high 
value to him, pursued as he was all the time, as 
he only too well knew, by the opposite fault of a 
too great readiness to be kindled into flame and 
Are. 

He had certainly become a new man since she 
entered so largely into his life. He began again 
to forge plans for his future, to read books on 
various subjects, in order to discuss them with 
her, and he went with Else and her, now and 
then, to the theater. Before then he used to let 
the groom take off the edge of his horse’s temper 
before he rode it; but now he exercised on the 
most fiery horse every day at the riding-school, 


350 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS, 


in the company of Lena and Linden, under the 
pretext — of Else’s devising — that he was chap* 
eroning them. And, when Linden had no time, 
he rode alone with her. 

What did the world say to it all? Well, the 
“world” noticed nothing of it, and would not 
have said anything if it had. 

And Else? Else was as proud as possible of 
this bond of friendship between Lena and Wer- 
ner, and persuaded herself that it had been 
brought about by herself alone ; she looked on the 
sympathy which the two felt for one another as 
a feather in her own cap. Anybody who should 
have come forward to arrest the march of events, 
and interpose a warning as to the consequences 
of these somewhat thoughtless doings, would 
have been simply repulsed by her as a worthless 
slanderer, judging things by the standard of his 
own mean, vulgar nature, and incapable of 
understanding the spotless and inviolable purity 
of really noble people. 

Even Lena, who was by far the most sensible 
of the three, had no. presentiment of danger. 
How could she? She knew the purity of her 
own heart ; she knew that if ever a woman was 
sheltered from wrongdoing by the utmost princi- 
ple and pride of morality, she was that woman ; 
and she loved Else as fully and as fondly as one 
woman could love another. 

But one thing she did not know. She did not 
know how easily passion can slip through any 
cordon of sentinels ; how unsafe from its inroads 
is the very purest of hearts ; how many and how 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


351 


skillful are the disguises it assumes to steal 
into the very citadel of life. She had no idea of 
its dangerous twistings and windings; how it 
masks itself under a thousand different noble 
sentiments and feelings. She had no idea of its 
insidious way of presenting itself as a simple 
innocent, innocuous thing, lulling into slumber 
the most incorruptible conscience under one pre- 
text or another, carefully guarding the secret of 
its own character and power, but steadily pursu- 
ing its own terrible object and purposes all the 
while. Lena knew a great deal ; but of all this 
she knew absolutely nothing. 

How should she? She was now eight-and- 
twenty. And, with the exception of that little 
episode at Eltville, and the emotions connected 
with it, nothing had ever happened to her to 
make her heart beat quicker for a single moment. 

And hotv could she attach any serious im- 
portance to that old story? She felt herself, now, 
so very much Werner’s superior in force of char- 
acter, yes, and in knowledge of the world too; 
why, he was something like a child in her hands. 
All this was true enough in its way, still — 

* * * * * * 
“You’re the best creature in the world, Lena!” 
said Elsb, one day, to her friend; “only, there’s 
one bone I have to pick with you, and that’s 
about your shocking behavior to poor Edmund.” 
“What’s the shocking behavior?” asked Lena. 
“Why, you just keep him dangling at the end 
of a thread; you won’t cut it and let him go, 
and don’t intend that anything shall come of it!” 


352 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“Oh! well, say it out! You mean that I am 
playing the coquette with him?” asked Lena. 

“You know that I never will allow anybody 
to say a word against you ; but, in this matter, 
you do seem a little blameworthy, to speak the 
honest truth! And I can’t understand what you 
are at!” 

“What I’m at is simple enough. It’s to pro- 
voke the envy of the other Berlin ladies at my 
having such a highly respectable adorer,” said 
Lena, as seriously as possible. 

“It’s to regale yourself with the sight of the 
squirmings of your victim, Lena,” laughed 
W erner. 

Else had made the notable discovery that Lena 
and herself were distantly related ; and, in con- 
sequence, had insisted upon it that her husband 
and her friend should consider themselves cous- 
ins, and address each other by their Christian 
names. 

“Don’t say such hateful things, you!” said 
Else, shaking her head at him. Among her 
many pathetic peculiarities, one was the habit 
of taking everything too seriously and literally. 
She went on: “I can’t believe it possible that 
Lena would feed her vanity at the cost of an- 
other person’s sufferings, and certainly not when 
that other is such a dear, good, noble-minded 
fellow as Edmund. If she’s leading Enzendorff 
a bit of a dance, it’s no more than the man de- 
serves; still I can’t imagine how anybody can 
see any fun at all in doing it with a man of his 
sort!” 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


353 


“I do find Enzendorff amusing, for my part,” 
Lena declared; 4 ‘a chat with him is far from 
unpleasant, I assure you ! There’s a good deal 
in him that annoys me, I confess; but still I 
don’t feel any antipathy to him. He’s a man 
of great discrimination, and is not wanting in a 
certain sense of justice and right; keen-witted 
men very rarely are. And he has never done or 
said anything to me that I can take exception to. 
He follows me about a good deal, there’s no de- 
nying that; but his conduct to me has never 
deviated in the least from the strictest propriety. 
And I’m not exactly an angel, my dears. One 
has one’s little vanities. And the respectful re- 
gard of such a notorious despiser of women as 
Enzendorff is a little flattering, after all.” 

“Don’t you be so confident and certain that 
it’s all right !” replied Else, with the amusing 
air of maternal superiority and guardianship 
whiqh she had adopted toward her more mature 
friend. “Selfish, spoiled men like Enzendorff 
are never quite to be trusted. And the wretch 
thinks himself irresistible; not without some 
reason, too, if all that people say is to be be- 
lieved!” 

“Well, I congratulate those ladies who allow 
him to fall at their feet, if such there are,” said 
Lena, dryly. Then she paused a little, shrugged 
her shoulders, and went on: “I can understand 
a woman’s marrying a cynic; that’s simple 
enough, for there are cynics and cynics, there’s 
cynicism and cynicism. But what I can’t under- 
stand at all is a woman letting a cynic make 


354 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


love to her. But, of course, an idealist is quite 
different.” As she said these words, her eyes 
seemed to be looking at something quite far off, 
and some feeling seemed to subdue their usual 
brilliancy. “Only, I fear greatly that there are 
some situations in which a man’s idealism is 
not exactly fireproof, however aspiring it may 
be.” 

“With all respect for the soundness of your 
judgment, Lena, I don’t think you put idealism 
in men on a sufficiently high level,” objected 
W erner. 

‘ ‘ Oh ! I had not the least idea of depreciating 
the capacity of men for idealist thinking and 
striving, not the least,” said Lena. “I don’t 
mean to divide men sharply into sheep and 
goats. Heaven protect us from a human- race 
in which the idealist, whoever he is, would not 
be more or less of a Philistine when turned in- 
side out!” 

“Oh! is that how you look at it?” 

“Yes, that's how I look at it; and, as that is 
so, I think that the best thing is to have as little 
to do with romance as possible, and keep to set- 
tled morals, settled rules and the straightforward 
paths of respectability.” 

“That’s exactly what I think!” said Else, in 
her sincere, emphatic way. 

Lena continued: “I once asked the Cardinal” 
— she nearly always referred to the deceased 
Count Betz as the Cardinal — “his opinion as to 
the course which persons should take, persons of 
both sexes, in complicated situations; and I put 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 355 

to him a number of cases of that kind. His 
answer was to this effect: ‘When I’m playing 
whist, and am puzzled what card to play, I stick 
as close as I can to the rules of the game ; it 
saves me breaking my head, and doesn’t leave 
mo open to criticism. Play according to rule!’ 
That was his contribution to my enlightenment. 
And I’ll tell you a strange thing. When he was 
on his deathbed, Ips eyes sought mine, and when 
I bent over him he said, almost inaudibly, ‘Play 
according to rule! ’ And he died with those 
words on his lips.” 

‘ ‘ He was a sage ! ’ ’ cried Else. ‘ ‘ Play accord- 
ing to rule ! Now shall I tell you what that 
means on the present occasion? It means this ; 
Behave like a rational creature, and marry Lin- 
den ! Isn’t it so, Werner? Isn’t it the very best 
thing she can do?” 

“Oh! don’t drive her to the wall! Give her 
a little time!” rejoined Werner, with a certain 
sharp edg% in his voice. 

“Your husband expresses my feeling exactly!” 
cried Lena. “Do give me time, a little time. 
Hm ! You accuse me of keeping Linden on a 
string, of meaning nothing, of coquetting with 
him, or what not. Shall I tell you what it 
means? All the coquetry only comes to this, 
that I’m trying to get used to the thought of 
him.” 

“Poor Edmund!” murmured Else, compas- 
sionately. “I can’t imagine why you find it 
so hard to finish up the matter and marry 
him!” 


356 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


4 ‘Well, it’s amusing beyond measure to hear 
that from you!” replied Lena, laughing, but a 
little vexed too. “Why in the world didn’t you 
have him?” 

“I?” laughed Else, merrily. “Of course I 
should, if this insupportable creature here” — she 
pulled Werner’s hair — “hadn’t come between us. 
I’m as certain as I stand here, that I shouldn’t 
have thought twice about taking Linden, if X 
hadn’t fallen in love with my old monster here. 
And I did that almost as soon as I set eyes on 
him. He took much longer about it, the villain, 
and he hasn’t quite caught up with me yet. But, 
as you have no such conclusive reason for declin- 
ing Linden — ” 

3 ust then some little feet were heard pattering 
outside the room. 

“That’s the children coming in from their 
walk!” cried Lena. “I’m expected there; I’ve 
brought with me a little puppet theater. And 
we’re going to represent the play of Bluebeard. 
Something unusually fine, I assure you. The 
scene where he’s polished off at last is magnifi- 
cent!” 

And she rustled off to them. 

It was in Else’s yellow parlor that this highly 
significant conversation had occurred. It was 
not so staring yellow as usual, as nearly all the 
pieces of furniture in the room were covered 
with all sorts of ingenious rubbish. They were 
making great preparations, in fact, for a bazaar, 
in which Else was to co-operate with Lena in 
getting off upon an unfortunate public all sorts 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


357 


of stupid articles, at the biggest possible prices, 
for some charitable purpose. And, with this 
noble end in view, Else had been racking all her 
most secret repositories, and putting together 
things which she had won in raffles, and cotil- 
ion favors ; the collection of her youth. 

All of them, taken together, did not amount 
to very much, in quantity ; and, as to quality, 
the less said of that the better. Lena had had 
a good laugh at the “old messy things.’’ The 
countess had brought Else, as some set-off to 
these monstrosities, some splendid old embroid- 
eries, ecclesiast ic vestments in their earlier state, 
which Lena had been lately using to conceal 
from view the vulgarity of a couple.of easy-chairs 
at the hotel. The two friends had settled that 
these embroideries should be used to bind some 
books — a very handsome binding it was to be — 
and Werner had cut out the pasteboard for them. 
Else could not sufficiently admire his patience 
and cleverness. “All that is due to your influ- 
ence,” she assured her friend. “Before that he 
used to lie on the sofa half the afternoon, and 
brood over metaphysical problems, as they call 
them.” 

Else’s eyes followed Lena as she left the room. 
She shook her pretty head quite gravely, and 
said: “What do you think, Werner? Do you 
think she’ll marry him, after all — Linden, I 
mean?” 

“What I think,” he replied, with less courtesy 
than usual in his tones, “is that you give your- 
self a great deal too much concern about things 


358 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


that are not your business!” And so saying, he 
pushed away from him the pasteboards he was 
working at, or rather playing with, and jumped 
up. 

“What’s the matter with you, Werner?” Else 
asked. 

“I’ve pricked my finger with the wretched 
prong,” he said; “it’s nothing.” 

And then he, too, left the room. 


END OF PART ONE. 


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CHORDS 
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A STORY OF SOULS ASTRAY 
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4 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


CHAPTER XXVIII— (Continued). 

The bazaar was a briUiant success. It was 
one of the most aristocratic of the season, and 
was. held under the immediate patronage of roy- 
alty. One of the ministers of state had allowed 
his reception-rooms to be used on this charitable 
occasion. The courtyard opening on to the 
Wilhelmstrasse was thronged from as early as 
eleven o’clock with the carriages of the highest 
personages in the land, from royalty downward. 

In front of the portico of the grotesque old 
gray palace, an architectural exploit of the 
eighteenth century, stood the porter, who had on 
a bandolier with silver mountings, and a big 
silver-mounted staff in his hand. He was a 
dark-complexioned giant, who looked as if he 
might be a Roumanian, or from some other 
semi-barbarous southern country. This worthy’s 
function was to direct all arrivals to go to the 
left, in order to get to the large salon. There 
was a very big, confused crowd all over the place, 
consisting, of course, principally of “philanthro- 
pists” of both sexes, the female being prepon- 
derant. 

The salon was, for the mercantile purpose of 

( 3 ) 


4 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


the occasion, divided into two parts; a lower 
part, where articles of utility were on sale, and 
an upper, for the luxuries and superfluities. The 
useful things were dealt in, under cost price, by 
comparatively subordinate members of society. 
But the articles of luxury were disposed of, at 
ridiculously high prices, to the uppermost of the 
upper ten of Berlin. 

The table held by Lena and Else was at the 
extreme upper end of the room, between that of 
a princess of the blood and the flower-stand. 
Eight young girls of the very best families at- 
tended to all the business connected with these 
flowers; and, as a sign of their employment, 
each one of them wore a special flower on her 
head, and as big a one of its kind as could be 
got hold of. One had a sunflower ; a second had 
a dahlia, the third some wonderful orchid or 
other. The prettiest of these flower-girls was 
beyond question the one that wore a red poppy, 
which she had stuck on her brown head all 
askew, in a careless, defiant sort of way. This 
red head-dress was well set off by the dark-green 
velvet dress the young beauty wore, and the 
effect of the whole was as charming as possible. 
All her movements were so graceful that they 
ought to have been photographed. 

These young girls, for the purpose, as one of 
the ministers expressed it, “of putting a little 
life into the shop,” had invented a new game. 
In the midst of the flowers there was a charming 
object, a tin frog with its mouth open to an un- 
natural width. Every passer-by was invited — 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


5 


or commanded — to try and throw a twenty-five- 
cent piece, or mark, into the frog’s mouth. 
Those who sent it in got a little wreath of 
flowers; those who failed had to pay a dollar; 
or as much more as their liberality prompted. 

At first, too many marks by far found their 
way into the frog’s mouth ; the flower-stand be- 
gan to wear a forlorn and depopulated look. The 
sunflower declared that it reminded her of the 
hair of one of her revered admirers. Something, 
it w’as clear, must be done. It was determined 
that the range of fire must be lengthened. The 
floor was marked with a chalk-line, within 
which no one was at liberty to attack the frog 
with his projectile. And a very young and 
charming princess knelt down to trace the 
line. 

Then serious differences arose as to the exact 
distance from the target at which the line should 
be traced. And the little princess, being down 
on her knees, and not wanting to lose her time, 
used the interval in making a rough sketch of a 
head on the floor; and very cleverly she did it. 
Then the girls saw all sorts of comical meanings 
and likenesses in the head, every one of them 
having her own original for it. There was no 
end of giggling and whispering, and pushing 
backward and forward. “Let me see!” “Gra- 
cious goodness, no!” “Oh, how spiteful!” A 
gentleman came up to look, and one of the 
flower-girls went with a jump and stood right 
over this masterpiece in chalk. “Oh, good 
Heavens ! Suppose he had seen it ! ” They were 


6 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


quite convinced that the wretched man would 
have seen the likeness. 

“You’ve saved my life, and I’ll never forget 
it!” exclaimed the little princess, as pert and 
friendly a creature as well could be, to her young 
friend, who stood perseveringly on the same spot, 
concealing the spiteful portrait from view. 

“But, my love, the likeness was so speaking; 
I don’t see how he would have taken it amiss,” 
said the sunflower. 

Poppy’s view was quite peculiar. “There are 
some people who don’t like their likenesses at all 
when they’re like them.” 

Then the laughing and chattering be<?an again, 
all together, growing louder and louder, almost 
shrill, but still not without the melody of highly 
educated voices. 

It was pleasant to see these lively damsels en- 
joying their temporary freedom from the severe 
etiquette of their social position. And it was 
curious to observe how their vivacity, which 
seemed, now and then, as though it would over- 
step all bounds, never really did so, but remained 
always well within the limit of grace and good 
taste. 

The worthy female representatives of the mid- 
dle class wives and daughters, at the lower end 
of the room, turned their faces, from time to 
time, with some expression of disapproval on 
them, in the direction of these charming young 
aristocratic rioters. They were astonished at 
the countesses making such a row. 

The next important incident was the coming 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


7 


on the scene of some foreign prince, who was on 
his travels. This personage now took up his 
position in front of the frog and bombarded him 
with a perseverance worthy of a better cause; 
and he didn’t stick at silver, some of his ammu- 
nition was of gold too. 

The young ladies still went on laughing, but 
not so loudly; in fact, only just enough — the 
cunning young saleswomen! — to encourage the 
prince in going on with his game. The prince 
found quite a royal amusement in the situation. 
But his adjutant, standing behind him, looked, 
as he probably was, bored to death. 

Then, all of a sudden, there was dead silence; 
all the laughter ceased, and all the chatter of 
tongues ; nothing was audible but the rush of 
footsteps, all in one direction. 

The Empress! 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

It seemed as though the people in the room 
had been suddenly multiplied threefold, so great 
was the pressure around the illustrious lady. In 
fact, they scarcely gave her room enough to 
move forward without colliding with them, 
more or less. There was no chance for any 
gentlewoman to show how grandly she could 
courtesy. The “great” people behaved in an 
uncourtly way; and the “little” people — those of 
the middle class — perhaps supposed themselves 
courtly in imitating their betters. 

The Empress showed no sign of impatience, 


8 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


but went forward as best she could through the 
crowd, sweet and amiable then as always — 
amiable with that peculiar charm which“has its 
root in the sentiment of maternity, that sen- 
timent which most ennobles a woman. This 
great and aged lady had something of this ele- 
ment in her that made her quite irresistible to 
the public. And now, as she passed on, greet- 
ing those she knew best as she went by them, it 
was plain that all hearts went with her. 

One of the ladies-in- waiting and a chamberlain 
made up her suite. The lady-in-waiting was 
carrying a very big, fanciful sofa-cushion, in the 
fabrication of which her majesty had taken 
some part. The chamberlain had got a bouquet 
with fluttering white satin ribbons, which had 
been handed to the empress by the committee of 
reception as she entered the bazaar. The poor 
gentleman felt very much as though he were 
some provincial in a little bit of a town taking 
a congratulatory nosegay to some house for a 
christening or a wedding. If he had had white 
gloves on he would probably have given himself 
up for lost, as a flunky pure and simple. As it 
was, he looked very distinguished and very mel- 
ancholy, in spite of his bouquet. 

At last the empress reached the tea-room, on 
the threshold of which a lady of the committee, 
whose family had been ennobled only fourteen 
days previous, offered her a cup. This gentle- 
woman, to show her loyalty, courtesied to the 
very ground, doing something to make up for 
the rather sans fagon manners of the rest of the 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


9 


company. There were one or two persons who 
observed, as her form slowly and majestically 
descended, “Why, she’s actually going to sit 
down on the ground before her majesty!” And 
the fact is, that she did miscalculate the relations 
between loyalty and gravitation, and did actually 
sit down on the ground, and so emphatically sit 
down on the ground that she could not get up 
again till some compassionate person pulled 
her up. 

The general public was not allowed access to 
the tea-room while the empress was there. She 
had nobody with her there except the ladies in 
charge of the room, and one or two whom she 
beckoned to come in and join her circle. 

She was soon gone, and the glory of the bazaar 
began to dwindle and decline. For a little while 
after she had gone the feeling among those present 
was subdued and quiet ; they spoke in rather low 
tones, and could speak of nothing but their ad- 
miration for this really admirable lady. 

All that now followed was more or less merely 
the winding up of affairs. The flower-stand 
was now all but emptied. The frog, however, 
is still doing business. A batch of three young 
gentlemen come up together, and fire at him one 
after the other. Countess Warsberg, who had 
been selling cough-lozenges and orris-root sachets 
in conjunction with her new friend, Countess 
Lenz, began with a melancholy air to reckon up 
her takings, something less than forty dollars. 
There was no mistake about it. These ladies had 
had a by no means successful day. Things had 




10 CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 

gone much better with another partnership, that 
of Princess Orbanoff and Thilda Schlitzing, be- 
tween whom subsisted a friendship most affect- 
ing. They had been dealing in cigarettes and 
cigar-holders. The Orbanoff was, certainly, 
dazzlingly beautiful in her dark-red velvet 
trimmed with fur ; and, at the moment we speak 
of, she was in a state of great animation. This 
was due to the circumstance that she had con- 
trived to get hold of Werner Schlitzing and make 
him stand talking there with her. She had a 
little swarm of worshipers about her, but she 
had singled him out with a tender smile that had 
been kept for him, and, even in the act of turn- 
ing her head here, there and everywhere, man- 
aged to whisper all sorts of amiable, taking 
things to him. And, just as it had been eight 
years before, on thal balcony in Schlangenbad, 
Werner’s blood went to his head a little under 
the excitement. 

There are few men who can stand firmly on 
their feet when a woman throws herself at their 
head. Werner’s bearing toward the Croatian 
lady was a mixture of careless condescension 
and almost imperceptible impertinence. Thilda, 
meanwhile, had plunged deep into a talk about 
art with Ryder-Smythe. All her packages of 
cigarettes had been adorned by rough little 
sketches from her own hand, impressionist land- 
scapes, she called them. And she was almost 
convinced that the high prices the cigarettes 
fetched were due to these masterpieces of her 
adding. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


11 


Ryder- Smy the had purchased no less than five 
packages of her cigarettes ; on credit, however, 
as he did not happen to have any cash with him. 

Thilda, however, advanced the money for him, 
till next morning, when it was arranged that he 
was to come to her studio and liquidate the debt. 

In fact, Thilda, just now, had an agreeable 
sensation of opulence. It was that little fortune 
which had come to her from an old uncle, two 
years before, whose property had been divided 
equally between Werner and herself. She gave 
the American “native” a full, true and particu- 
lar history of this windfall, putting it in a funny 
light, telling him how little she expected such a 
thing, and in what little account she had held 
the “grumpy old fellow” as long as he lived. 

The great success of the day was at the table 
of Lena and Else. Else’s old trophies from raf- 
fles and cotilions were buried out of sight under 
the expensive things with which Lena had set off 
the table at the last moment, Venetian glass, 
with all sorts of splendid colors and in all sorts 
of shapes, dolphins, mussels and other graceful 
marine forms, particularly Anglo-Indian, were 
in great variety. The coverings for the books 
had not been finished in time. It had been found 
necessary to send them to a bookbinder at the 
last moment, and he had not been punctual in 
sending them. 

Else had been beaming all day with beauty 
and youth, and lavishing on everybody her de- 
lightful and affectionate attentions. And she 
had hugely enjoyed herself. The table was quite 


12 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


swept. And she counted up her receipts with 
high delight. “Nearly four hundred dollars, 
Lena!” she exclaimed. “Isn’t it splendid? Ah! 
there comes Enzendorff . I must get hold of him !” 

“For Heaven’s sake, no!” exclaimed Lena, 
taking such a tight and convulsive hold of her 
friend’s arm that Else had some difficulty in re- 
pressing a cry. 

“Why, what’s the matter with you, Lena? 
You’re as white as chalk!” 

“Oh! nothing. But — I can’t endure people 
being draggedupto one by main force!” replied 
Lena, gloomily. 

“Nonsense, Lena! a rich man like Enzendorff 
must learn to put up with things, and come out 
properly when one’s begging right and left to 
get a place for poor little children to lay their 
heads! If I put a pistol to his purse, he can’t 
mistake the proceeding for an act of personal 
homage, surely.” 

“One can never be sure of anything, with a 
man like Enzendorff,” replied Lena, with irrita- 
tion. “You said so yourself, not long ago, and 
you were quite right.” 

“Can he possibly have — has he been displeas- 
ing you particularly ?” asked Else, anxiously. 

Lena made no answer, but two red spots sud- 
denly appeared on her white cheeks. 

“You are not yourself to-day, Lena, not at 
all!” 

“Oh, merciful Heavens! I’m a little agitated, 
I confess, but there’s good reason for it!” She 
pulled at her gloves excitedly. “I — I — if I must 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


18 


speak, I’ve had a lesson; and I see that I must 
begin to take life much more seriously and se- 
verely than I’ve ever done yet. It is horrible, it 
is cruel, to see how people grudge a poor lady 
her little innocent bit of liberty!” 

She sat down and began to turn over uneasily 
the insignificant remnants of their stock of goods. 

The bazaar began now to give signs of the 
noise and confusion attendant upon the last mo- 
ments of that sort of philanthropic festivity. The 
tables, with their red cotton draperies, were all 
but empty. Close to the entrance sat the lady 
who was treasurer of the society for whose ben- 
efit the bazar had been held, with heaps of gold 
and silver in front of her, making up the accounts 
with another gentlewoman. 

The money was being carried off now to its 
destination. A few gentlemen now came for- 
ward and offered their services to give the last 
act of the drama a little brilliancy, proposing 
that some of the things still left on hand should 
be raffled for. 

A pretty little lace cap was first : elected, lady’s 
gear, of course. Linden took it about the room 
on the point of his sword, vaunting its merits, 
while one of the flower-countesses walked ma- 
jestically by his side disposing of the tickets. 

“My fate!” murmured Lena, almost inaudi- 
bly, to herself. Then, turning to Else, with an 
almost imploring glance: “Else, do you think — 
do you really think, that if you try hard you 
can learn to be fond of somebody?” 

“Well, if you have really a mind to, just a lit- 


14 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


tie inclination to, the ‘person,’ and the necessary 
perseverance, most certainly; that’s to say, if 
the ‘person’ is worth the trouble. And in this 
case the ‘person’ is,” replied Else, warmly. 

“Do you think so, really?” asked Lena, doubt- 
fully, turning her head in the direction of Lin- 
den’s voice. 

He was still balancing the little cap on the 
point of his sword. His prettily carved features, 
framed in the dark blonde hair, were alive with 
good nature and the effort to put some merri- 
ment into the people about ; in which he seemed 
to be succeeding to admiration. The whole 
charming bunch of flower-sellers crowded round 
him, the girls were listening and giggling, and 
repeating his jokes to one another. 

“I can’t understand him at all,” murmured 
Lena, the corners of her mouth drooping in a 
melancholy manner. “Why doesn’t he put out 
his hand into that charming group and pluck one 
of its flowers? With the exception of the two 
who have royal blood in their veins, there’s not 
one of the little beauties who wouldn’t be glad 
enough to be dragged to the altar by him!” 

“Well, it’s plain enough that he aims higher,” 
said Else, “and if you have any sense you’ll 
listen to him. I’m so sorry for him. Do just 
come and look ! Everybody about him is laugh- 
ing, but the poor fellow himself is anything but 
merry. Don’t you pity him just a little, Lena? 
I can assure you of one thing; when you’ve be- 
come a little used to him, you’ll be the happiest 
woman and wife in the whole world. He plays 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


15 


his cards badly, and doesn’t know how to make 
yon’ value him. You won’t let him seem half 
the man he is ; you keep him down terribly. But, 
believe me, there are treasures in his heart and 
mind of which you have not the least idea.” 

“So much the better,” murmured Lena, “so 
much the better. ” 

“And will you really try, now , to behave like 
a rational creature?” asked Else, roguishly. 

“I’ve almost made up my mind, positively to 
do so, ” sighed Lena. Her eyes swept round the 
room and rested on the spot where the Orbanoff • 
was still looking up, with her warm, languorous 
glances, at Werner Schlitzing. “How handsome 
the Croatian woman is looking to-day!” ob- 
served Lena. “Your husband cannot tear him- 
self away from her.” 

“Tear himself away!” Else shrugged her 
shoulders with good-humored indifference. 
“She’s got hold of him with that tongue of 
hers, and he can’t escape; that’s the whole 
story. He doesn’t like the woman at all.” 

“Are you so very sure of that?” asked Lena, 
with some irritation in her voice. “She’s very 
handsome, and very much followed, and, unless 
all the signs deceive, she can warm up very decid- 
edly and be uncommonly amusing in the society 
of gentlemen. With all her superficial indiffer- 
ence and languor, she has plenty of the Croatian 
prickly heat in her veins when it’s wanted. ” 

“Doesn’t make a bit of difference !” said Else, 
very confidently, with a hearty laugh. 

“I never imagined a woman could be so un- 


16 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


concerned,” said Lena, with some signs of vexa- 
tion. “I admire you, but I cannot understand 
you! Don’t you know what jealousy means?” 

“Never had any reason to inquire, so far,” 
replied Else, with composure. “Kind Provi- 
dence has spared me that, up to the present mo- 
ment. If I ever were to have any serious cause 
for jealousy, the matter would be simple enough, 
my heart would just break, that’s all. But, 
now ” — with a contemptuous glance at the hand- 
some princess — “I should as soon think of flying. 
He’s only amusing himself a little, if you please. ” 

Lena turned away from contemplating Werner 
and the princess with a certain rough abrupt- 
ness. “I am quite worn out,” she exclaimed. 
“The smell of hothouse flowers and cotton night- 
gowns has gone to my nerves. I must go to 
the refreshment-stand and get a glass of some 
wine or other!” 

She disappeared. The bazaar drew to its close 
with increasing rapidity. But the more the ta- 
bles emptied of their contents, the denser the 
crowd seemed to grow in some places. 

Linden was tired out with his efforts to make 
people laugh, while he himself was much more 
ready to shed tears. So he relinquished to a 
very young lieutenant the task of crying up the 
beauties of a saddle that was put up. He went 
up to Else’s table. “Have you anything that 
will do for me?” he asked. 

She showed him a particularly ugly frame for 
a photograph, of Florentine mosaic, in the form 
of a palette. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


17 


He smiled faintly. “I’ll take it off your 
hands,’ ’ he said. “What do you want for it?” 

“Oh, what I want is just six dollars, to make 
up the round two thousand which we made up 
our minds to fleece all of you of for the charity.” 

“Well, there they are,” replied Linden, put- 
ting three pieces of ten on the table. “And, to 
tell you the honest truth, if you trace the palette’s 
genealogy, it begins with me. I gave it, years 
ago, to a little Russian princess, at a game of 
forfeits.” 

“I got it from Aunt Warsberg, ’’explained Else. 

“Well, it’s quite clear that the palette is one 
of those articles that go from hand to hand as 
presents, a sort of circular tour; so it’s quite in 
the day’s march that it should come round to 
its original starting point, ” said Linden; then 
he continued, in a depressed tone: “I have a 
special talent for sending out into the world that 
sort of traveling present. This is the third object 
with which I have tried to give a good, youthful 
heart a little pleasure, and which has come back 
to me in the same sort of circuitous way, after 
passing from one hand that didn’t care much for 
it to another that cared probably less. I can’t 
imagine why it should be so. Other people can 
give women the stupidest presents, which they 
keep religiously ; hut my presents, and I take a 
good deal of trouble in choosing them, I assure 
you, nobody seems to care one jot for; they 
simply circulate from hand to hand.” 

“Oh, Mumu! how silly you are!” cried Else. 
When she felt more than usually kindly toward 


18 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


him she always called him Mumu. “I’ll tell 
you what ; you shan’t have the six dollars back, 
but I shall keep the frame for myself ; yes, and 
I shall put your photograph in it and put it on 
my writing-table. Will that satisfy you?” 

“Too much kindness altogether!” replied 
Linden, shaking his head; “shows that I’m not 
dangerous at all.” 

‘ ‘ Oh ! now nothing will satisfy you unless you 
are dangerous to an old married woman like 
me!” scolded Else. “You self -tormentor!” She 
threatened him with her finger. 

“Heaven forbid! I don’t want to be dangerous 
to you, dear!” he said, laughingly, in his de- 
fense. Then he added, very tenderly: “Else, 
you know that’s all over; you know it quite 
well. A warm disinterested friendship is the 
very best and sweetest tombstone for a dead love. 
When that has once grown up one may go about 
in safety ; the love has really gone to its eternal 
rest, and there’s no fear of its ghost walking.” 

“Edmund, that piece of bombast is not yours, 
you’ve got it from some high-flown book or 
other!” said Else, shaking her head. 

“No, it wasn’t from a book, it was from 
Countess Retz, whom I heard say something like 
it, not very long since, ’ ’ replied Linden. And, 
as he pronounced the name, the blood shot into 
his face to the very roots of his blonde hair. 

“Lena!” exclaimed Else. “What does she 
know about dead love, I should like to know? 
Why, she has never known yet what it was to 
have even a partial liking for anybody!” 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


19 


“Are you quite, quite sure of that?” asked 
Linden, uneasily. 

“Quite, quite sure!” said Else. 

Linden drew a sigh of relief. “This is no talk 
for such a place as this,” he observed. “I won- 
der how we managed to get upon the old, old 
subject! I only wanted to say it once to you, 
and leave it ; though you know all about it with- 
out my telling you. When you married another, 
I suffered horribly for some time. It was a long 
day indeed before I got over it, and I’d go 
through fire and water to serve you still. But, 
praise and thanks to God ! the bad part of it is 
over now, quite past and gone !” 

“Hm!” She laughed at him out of those 
cheering, cheerful blue eyes of hers. “Hm! And 
you feel yourself imperatively called on to say all 
that to my very face, you abominable man!” 

“How, Else, be serious. I’ll use your own 
words against yourself. Do you really think 
that I ought to have been going on breaking my 
heart for a rational married woman all these 
seven years?” 

“Hm! hm!” — she stretched her neck, in a 
teasing sort of way, out of her blue silk kerchief 
with its bits of gold lace — “who knows? Per- 
haps I shouldn’t have taken your fidelity so 
much amiss.” 

“But I’m not unfaithful to you,” he said, in 
his defense; “I honor and revere you almost with 
the same devotion that a Catholic pays to the 
Mother of God!” 


20 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“Oh! I’ve not much in common with the 
Mother of God!’’ said Else, with a laugh. 

“Don’t you think so? Well, when you have 
little Lizzie in your arms you often remind me, 
quite curiously, of the Sistine Madonna!” 

“Really? Hm! So you revere the poor Sis- 
tine Mother ! But even the Catholic faithful are 
not saved by that devotion from coming into 
bondage to some earthly love ; and the two loves, 
the heavenly and the earthly, manage to get on 
pretty well together. And I suppose it’s so with 
you.” 

“Well, if it is, can you quarrel with me for 
it?” said Linden, very emphatically, and in 
tones half way between jest and earnest. 

“Shall I tell you the whole, honest truth?” she 
replied, very merrily. “Well, to my shame, I 
must confess that when you told me just now of 
your unfaithfulness to me, it did just give me a 
little stab at the heart, at first. Yes, it is so, and 
you may lift your eyebrows up to your forehead 
as high as you like, it won’t make any differ- 
ence. But, the very next moment, I was abom- 
inably glad to know it. And I tell you that no- 
body in the world will be more delighted than I 
if you and Lena make a pair of it. I’m your 
faithful ally, old friend!” 

“Yes, yes!” he murmured, “the old story, the 
old story ! J ust like those traveling presents of 
mine ! One lady passes, or rather pushes, me on 
to another. And it will end just like that. I 
shall just stop long enough at one love station 
after another for refreshments, and, at the end 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


21 


of the journey, I shall find myself just where I 
started from. And that is by the side of Queen 
Else, as her humble, despairing adorer, and the 
kindly tolerated friend of herself, her husband 
and children !” 

“You mustn’t talk such shocking nonsense, 
you mustn’t, indeed!” said Else, a little angrily. 
“Eyes front and quick march, sir! The world 
belongs to the courageous!” 

“Else, joking apart now, tell me your opinion. 
Do you really think I have the ghost of a 
chance?” 

“I think your prospects there are more favora- 
ble at this moment than they have ever been be- 
fore,” replied Else, warmly. “And there’s only 
one word more to say, and that’s the old proverb, 
‘Well ventured is half won.’ Lena is at the re- 
freshment-stand.” Then, turning away from 
him, and, if the truth must be told, forgetting 
his very existence for a moment: “Why, little 
people! little people! Are you really come at 
last, you darling little unpunctual wretches? Oh ! 
how hot the walk has made us, how dreadfully 
hot ! There’s red cheeks ! And I suppose you 
all want candies now, chocolate or something? 
Miss Miller, do, please, loose Dinchen’s cloak a 
little ; it is too warm for anything ! Rodi, you 
can do that for yourself. And you, darling, 
what can you do? The only thing you can do is 
to give mamma a kiss, a nice, big, soft, warm 
kiss. One more, and one more again, you sweet 
little rogue!” This last was for little Lizzie’s 
benefit, whom she had taken in her arms. And 


22 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


all of it was said with laughter and lowered 
voice, so as not to disturb the room. 

And, perhaps, this world has never seen a 
prettier sight than Else with her group of little 
ones around her. Everybody turned to look at 
the mother and the children, while Else, in her 
simple way, in utter unconsciousness of the ad- 
miration excited by the sweet picture of herself 
and her young brood, steered her way to the tea- 
room, that the children might get their choco- 
late. 

A few minutes later Werner came to her. “At 
last!” he exclaimed. “I really thought I was 
in for it forever! Is it good, Miss Schlitzing?” 
This last to little Lizzie on her mother’s lap, who 
was taking her chocolate with devout absorption . 

The little thing put down the cup which she 
had been holding with her two little fat hands, 
and looked up at papa. On her cheeks were two 
big splashes of whipped cream ; and she began 
to tell a long story about something with much 
gesticulation, of which no living soul could have 
made a word, but which was all plain enough 
to mamma. 

“Are you ready to go home?” asked Werner. 

“I’ve nothing more to do, myself, but I don’t 
know about Lena,” replied Else, more interested 
in her children just then than in any mortal 
thing. “Let them bring you a cup of chocolate 
too, it’s capital!” 

He assented. “Capital, indeed!” he agreed; 
then, looking round: “Where is Lena?” he 
asked. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


23 


“Lena — Lena!” There was a gleam of sly- 
fun in Else’s eyes. “Draw your chair a little 
nearer, I can’t scream like this!” she said. 
“Great events are impending!” 

“What do you mean?” said Werner, with 
some excitement. 

“If I am not quite mistaken, the decisive and 
important moment is come,” said Else, in a low 
but very triumphant voice. “On my way here 
I threw a glance into the refreshment-room, and 
saw Lena and Linden in very animated conver- 
sation indeed. I am convinced that everything 
will go as finely as possible. But why don’t you 
drink your choc olate ? ” 

“It is too sweet,” replied Werner, letting his 
spoon fall with a rattle into the saucer. 


CHAPTER XXX. 

Evening! Else is sitting in the yellow parlor 
alone, knitting a pair of white gaiters for little 
Lizzie. Every now and then she spreads them 
on her hand to see if they are all right, hum- 
ming to herself : 

“My sweetheart he’s the village smith, 

And he’s to marry me !’’ 

Werner has withdrawn to his own room, under 
pretext of having letters to write. But he is 
by no means writing letters. He is merely sit- 
ting at his writing-table, with his pen in one 
hand and his head in the other, looking down 


24 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


in deep thought on the white paper which he 
has laid before him for form’s sake. Every 
now and then he turns his head and listens — 
listens. Else had said to him: “If she has en- 
gaged herself she’ll be sure to come to us with 
him this evening. She knows how we shall 
rejoice at it.” 

Some hours have elapsed since she had said 
it, two, three, nearly four hours; and Lena has 
not made her appearance. Werner’s heart be- 
gan to beat more quietly. Then she hasn’t en- 
gaged herself! No, indeed, how could such a 
thing be possible? A crazy idea that of Else’s, 
nothing short of crazy, to try and weld those 
two people together. Never were any two less 
suitable to one another! Not the least suitable, 
not the least! The marriage would be sheer 
misery to both! But Else is always getting 
stupid notions like that into her head. She is 
really too silly and childish for her age, the 
good little soul! What a mercy it would be if 
she could only get to look at life a little more 
deeply and comprehensively ! But it’s no use 
wishing, it’s not in her to do it! 

He glanced across the writing-table to the 
wall where her portrait was hanging in an oval 
frame. It was the work of a Frankfurt artist, 
who was once the fashion at Wiesbaden, and 
done in the antiquated Winterhalter style. It 
was an Else with shoulders sloping with an un- 
natural abruptness, clecolletee , standing by a 
stone balustrade, and thrown up by a crying 
background of violet-green landscape. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


25 


Bad as the taste of the whole thing was, it 
was really a likeness. Else’s sweet little face 
laughed out of the canvas with all its own 
native, healthy, roguish charm. 

But Werner was in a vexed and thankless 
humor, and he turned away with an impatient 
movement from the picture and from the thought 
of its original. 

Then he began to listen attentively once more. 

Ha! What is that? A carriage stops below; 
there is a ring. He would have liked to rush 
and open the door with his own hand. But he 
does what he can: starts up and listens. Yes, 
it is she : not a doubt of it ! Then he hurriedly 
lit a cigarette to give himself a countenance, 
and, walking as composedly as he could, and 
with a smile as careless as he could make it on 
his face, he went to the parlor to Else. “Well, 
Else, will they never bring supper up?” he asked. 

“To tell you the truth, it’s my doing; I’ve 
been waiting for Lena,” she replied, “and I’m 
afraid she’s going to disappoint us. . . Ah, at 
last!” 

A joyous light came on Else’s face. The door 
was opened and Lena came in, as pale as death, 
her eyes burning feverishly and with black 
shadows under them, and her lips of deep, black- 
ish red. 

“Well, Lena, am I to congratulate you?” 
asked Else, rushing up to her friend. But the 
words died on her lips when she saw the young 
woman’s face. “Oh, heavens, Lena, how you 
look! For God’s sake! what’s the matter 


26 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


with you. You don’t mean to say you’ve sent 
him to the right-about, Lena?” 

“Yes and no — and no and yes,” replied Lena, 
as though her head was confused. “Oh, for 
goodness’ sake let me sit down and recover my- 
self a little. You see, I’ve come to stay. I’ve 
taken off my hat and cloak, and I think for the 
last time.” She fell into a chair and stared 
before her. 

“The last time?” asked Werner. His first 
sensation had been one of relief and triumph, 
but he was startled by her words. “What do 
you mean by that, Lena? The last time?” 

“Yes, the last time! I’m going away! ” ex- 
claimed Lena, violently. “I’ve no business 
here, now, none at all.” 

“Why, what is all this? So sudden, too,” 
asked Else, greatly troubled. “What reason 
can you possibly have? What has happened?” 

“What has happened? Nothing, nothing!” 
Lena tore at the finger-tips of her gloves with 
her teeth, and then pulled them off hastily. 
“What has happened, indeed! Well, I told 
you just now that I saw just as well as you 
do that it was time for me to behave like a 
rational woman. And I can’t make up my 
mind to do so, I cannot, I cannot!” She burst 
all at once into a convulsive fit of sobbing. 

Else folded her in her arms. 

“Oh, you silly, you silly, how can you spoil 
the evening for me like that?” she said, in ten- 
der, reproachful tones, stroking her friend’s head. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


27 


“I had arranged it all in my own mind. I was 
going to have such a splendid time over our 
little fete this evening in honor of the engage- 
ment. I made so very sure about it that I had 
some champagne put to cool on the strength of 
it. And now — Oh, Lena! But tell us about 
it. Why in the world didn’t you let things go 
on a little longer without precipitating a con- 
clusion, if you have done so? Or what is it? 
What has Linden been about?” 

“Oh!” — Lena pushed away the hair from her 
forehead impatiently with both hands. “What 
in the world can one say? Yesterday I had a 
most painful experience. Engendorff, on whose 
reserved attitude, or self-restraint, or scruples, 
or God knows what, I plumed myself so— you 
know it — permitted himself to say things the 
drift of which there was no possibility of mis- 
taking. It was impossible for me to pretend 
that I did not understand them. His meaning 
was too plain, and I had no alternative but to 
ring for the servant and have him shown out. 
I have no words to tell you how miserable I 
was. I felt so humiliated, so shamed. How 
could I help asking myself whether there was 
anything in my conduct which had made him 
forget himself so. And my conscience does not 
wholly acquit me. I ought to have had more 
foresight. But even if I had, he would never 
have ventured so far if my unhappy position 
had not been a positive encouragement to him.” 

“Lena, for goodness’ sake don’t talk of your 
unfortunate position; that’s mere folly!” ex- 


28 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


claimed Else, smoothing her friend’s ruffled 
hair. “I assure you that Countess Lenzdorff’s 
tongue has been properly at work, and all Ber- 
lin knows all about it, and everybody quite well 
understood that he’d get into awful trouble if 
he went too far!” 

“And do you think that makes my position 
one whit the better?” stormed Lena. “What 
does it amount to? The men will less than ever 
know what to make of me. That’s their point 
of view. And as for the women, they’ll all 
hate me the more because they can’t despise 
me. Berlin society, at first, amused itself with 
me as an odd, new kind of plaything. Any- 
thing new and odd goes down for a while in 
Berlin. But after a while they get sick of it. 
If you want to get yourself regularly enrolled 
in the social ranks you must pay the proper 
entrance fee. And that entrance fee in my 
case means sober, normal marriage; something 
that will rub off my little bit of prestige and 
put me on the general level. Ah! you were 
right Else, right, right, right, when you ad- 
vised me to get into one of the regular grooves 
at any cost! I see you were right, and I — I 
quite made up my mind to say yes to Linden, 
only — at the last moment — ” 

“You did just the contrary?” said Else, quite 
downcast. 

“No, not just the contrary. He was so ear- 
nest and eloquent, and his heart was so plainly 
in the matter, that I couldn’t bring it over my 
heart to do so. I — well,” she shrugged her 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


29 


shoulders, “I didn’t give him a definite an- 
swer. I told him I would do my best to find 
out what I really wished and thought about the 
matter, and that in a couple of months he might 
speak to me again. That’s how matters stand, 
and to-morrow I’m going away; I’ve come to 
say good-by.” 

“But, Lena,” cried Else, “if things are so, 
you ought plainly to stay here and try to see 
and know more of him.” 

“Know more of him?” Lena laughed a little 
bitterly. “Why, I know him already, inside 
and out. No! It’s not him I have to try and 
know more about. Do you know why I want 
the two months, Else? I want to spend them 
in trying to know a little more about myself. 
I’m a terra incognita to myself, I really am, 
and I’m making fresh discoveries in that region 
every day.” 

She looked gloomily in front of her and 
stroked Else’s hands tenderly. “Else! Else!” 
she murmured. “Such a sweet, sweet time it 
has been for me with you here ! The hours I 
have been privileged to spend in your dear 
home have been the most delightful in my 
whole life! It is so sad, so terribly sad, that 
I must go.” She drew her friend to her and 
kissed her passionately. 

“But why must you go? I can’t see the 
slightest reason for it,” said Else, softly. “Do 
say something, Werner.” She turned to her 
husband, who had been sitting there without 
uttering a word or giving a sign. 


30 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


4 ‘If I am to say what I think, I don’t see any 
reason for it either,” Werner declared. 

Lena drew a deep breath. “For one thing, it 
would be disagreeable to meet Enzendorff con- 
stantly in society,” she said. 

“But, Lena,” exclaimed Werner and Else al- 
most together, and as if speaking with one voice. 

‘ 4 It’s Enzendorff who ought to be ashamed of 
himself and go, not you.” 

“Alas! nobody can see into my heart,” said 
Lena; “and I can’t speak to other people as I 
can to you. However, I might manage to get 
over the point of the necessary alteration of 
bearing to Enzendorff, and people might think 
what they liked about it. But it’s something 
quite different, much more important, that 
drives me away. It’s Linden. If I had the 
courage to send him to the right-about alto- 
gether, or keep him standing far enough off, 
it would be all very well. But I know how 
it would be. Else would be always inviting 
him to meet me, in order that I might know 
him better.” She laughed. 

“Most decidedly Else would,” said Else. 

“And then everybody’s eyes would be upon 
us, and there’d be the question; are they en- 
gaged, or are they not? Do what we would we 
should be compromised and nolens volens. I 
should have to put up with him as my fiance ; 
he’d get into the position, whatever I might do. 
And I’m determined not to submit to it. Ho, 
no, no! I will have my two months to think it 
well over. If, after that, I can say yes to him 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


31 


with the conviction that I’m not doing wrong, 
I’ll say yes in God’s name; and then the poor 
soul will be out of his pain. For there’s one 
thing I' can confidently assure you of. When 
once I’m Countess Linden, I shall do my duty; 
I may die of it, perhaps, but I shall certainly 
do it. I’m an honorable creature; and I would 
never receive so much, as I should from Linden 
in that case, without at least being able to ren- 
der some sort of equivalent. That’s why I must 
have plenty of time to thi nk it over. Oh, Heaven ! 
Oh, Heaven!” Then with a sudden revulsion 
from the tragical tones and bearing with which 
she had been speaking, she turned laughingly, 
and with a sort of defiance to lse. “Else, I 
have a request to make,” she cried. 

“I’m curious to know what’s coming now!” 
exclaimed Else. 

“Well, I’ll out with it. You surely have a 
few photographs of Linden?” 

“Very much at your service. Every stage of 
his career almost, from the knickerbocker boy 
onward,” confessed Else. “Go and get the 
album, Werner— the one on the corner table.” 

Else threw the album open. “There you have 
Linden as cadet, as lieutenant, as lawn-tennis 
performer, as jockey. You don’t often come 
across as handsome a fellow; you can’t take that 
away from him, anyway.” 

“That’s true enough; I can’t take that away,” 
agreed Lena, shaking her head with extreme 
seriousness. 

“And that’s the least of his good qualities,” 


32 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


said Else, warmly. “ He has such a good 
heart . 5 ’ 

“Hm! Good it may be, but it’s not very 
deep,” said Lena, positively, and looking at- 
tentively at the portraits. 

“Oh, it’s quite as deep as any heart need to 
be. The only thing is that you can see the bot- 
tom of it more readily, because it’s so pure and 
clear,” said Else, defending her old friend. 

“I’ll tell you a little story,” said Lena; “a 
stupid little story, about something that hap- 
pened to me not long ago in Paris. Last New 
Year I wanted to get a Japanese vase to please 
a young girl, an artist, who had been quite wast- 
ing her efforts for some time in giving me les- 
sons in painting. The little present wasn’t to 
* cost more than fifty or a hundred francs ; rather 
the smaller sum if possible. But the vase would 
have to be something quite tasteful, as it was 
for an artist. I drove to the little St. Thomas, 
in the Rue du Bae. I had seen an advertise- 
ment in the Figaro that a collection of Japanese 
curios was for sale there. So I drove over, and 
I looked at one thing after another for such a 
time, with the help of a polite clerk, who turned 
out to be a great connoisseur. I saw lots of 
pretty things priced, not only at fifty, but at 
thirty, twenty francs; but they were not what 
I wanted. Everything wonderfully pretty, no 
doubt, but with something wanting. Now, 
after I’ve looked at things for some time they 
all seem to go wrong, and I go wrong, too: I 
get toothache, or eyeache, or something or other; 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


33 


at all events, I feel as if I had my hands on imi- 
tation velvet, or as if I were hearing the Moon- 
light Sonata played on a barrel-organ. All of 
a sudden I pointed to one particular vase. 
‘That’s what I want,’ said I. It was a vase 
much like the rest — only, not quite; it had a 
good deal fewer zig-zagy designs, and one 
side of it was higher than the other, and 
there was something absolutely indescribable 
in the color, something that seemed to do my 
heart good the moment I caught sight of it. 
‘Madame has a happy hand,’ cried the clerk, 
‘real old Satsuma.’ He looked at the price- 
mark. ‘Three thousand francs, ’ he murmured. 
It was laughable, wasn’t it? I had to sing 
small and decline the vase, and the clerk said : 
‘Well, madame, it is hard! Madame can’t get 
along with stupid, every-day things at all, I 
see.’ ‘Well, if a person can’t, there’s nothing 
for it but to possess one’s soul in patience and 
wait for some happy accident or other to satisfy 
one,’ I replied to him, and went my way.” 

Lena stopped short rather abruptly. 

“What has your story to do with Linden? I 
don’t understand, not a bit,” said Else. 

“Don’t you really?” replied Lena, with some 
impatience. “Well, if you must have it, Lin- 
den is the every-day sort of article that I can’t 
get along with, that’s all.” 

“H’m! And you propose to wait a little 
longer till the better accident turns up?” 
asked Werner ironically, but with a strangely 
tense look. 


34 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“No!” said Lena, almost roughly. “I’ve 
quite given that up. What I propose — and 
what I’ve determined to do — is to be a rea- 
sonable creature and try to get used to second- 
rate articles. Else, an idea! Do you know 
what? Just you take all those photographs of 
Linden out of your album and write out an in- 
ventory of all his good qualities at the back of 
them. I’ll take the whole collection with me on 
my travels, and promise you sacredly to study 
them every day and try to get all his good 
qualities well into my head. Perhaps I shall 
have learned my lesson in the two months. 
There shall be no lack of industry and good' 
will on my part, I assure you. ’ ’ 

“Oh, there’s no getting you to be really seri- 
ous,” said Else, exasperated. “However, we’ll 
see what can be done.” 

At that moment the servant announced supper. 

“The last time!” said Lena, sadly. 

The champagne which had been put to cool 
in honor of her engagement was drunk by them 
“to their next happy meeting!” And, at the 
same time, the tears flowed down Lena’s cheeks. 
And Else told her, majestically, that she ought 
to try and be a more reasonable creature. 

After supper Lena begged to be allowed to 
see the children once more. She kissed them 
all, and put on each one’s pillow a toy which 
she had brought away from the bazaar. 

She took her leave of Else on the threshold of 
the nursery. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


35 


God protect and watch over you!” she said, 
in a low voice. “I thank you for all the kind- 
ness and love you’ve given me. People don’t 
mean much, usually, when they say that sort 
of thing ; but you know what it means on my 
lips. And it’s the simple truth that there never 
is one moment when I wouldn’t gladly lay down 
my life for you. Stay where you are! Don’t 
come further with me! The door of the nursery 
is what best suits your sweet, sweet person to 
be framed in. And, when I am far from you, 
it is standing there that your dear presence 
will come before me always. Adieu!” 

“I shall come to the station, for all that,” Else 
called to her as she went. She did not take that 
farewell quite as seriously as she should. And 
she was very sorry for it later. 

He****** * 

Lena left Berlin the following evening, giving 
out that it was necessary for her to be present 
at the wedding of a niece of the departed Count 
Retz, in Paris. 

JSTo one was informed at what hour she was 
to start, except the Schlitzings. She was anx- 
ious not to have a crowd of indifferent faces 
buzzing about her at the last moment. 

Else did not come to the station. Little Lizzie 
was taken suddenly unwell and the mother could 
not leave her. But Werner came. He was 
stamping uneasily up and down the Potsdam 
station when Lena made her appearance. 

She was wrapped from head to foot in a large 
sealskin cloak, looked very handsome and dis- 


36 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


tinguished, but terribly pale, and, in spite of 
her warm wraps, as though she was frozen to 
the marrow. 

She was followed by her maid and man- 
servant. “Where is Else?” she asked, the 
moment she saw Werner. 

Werner explained why his wife could not 
come. 

Lena sighed. “I am almost glad that she did 
not come. Leave-taking is so painful. Once 
is quite enough.” 

Werner handed her a wreath of roses and a 
small parcel. “It’s from Else,” he said. 

She pressed the wreath with a sort of tenderness 
to her face. Then, lifting her mobile eyebrows 
to her forehead, she examined the little package 
doubtfully: “What’s inside?” she asked. 

“You’d better look.” 

It was half-a-dozen photographs of Linden. 
Else had noted down on each of them one of his 
good qualities. 

Lena laughed, but there was not much merri- 
ment in the laugh, and then let the portraits fall 
indifferently in a pocket of her cloak. “Tell 
Else that I will do all I can, my very utmost!” 
she murmured ; then her throat seemed to tighten, 
and she could not bring out another word. She 
hid her face among the roses. 

“And what are your plans for the immediate 
future?” asked Werner, who w^ himself far 
from being on a bed of roses. 

“Heaven only knows! First of all, I’m going 
to Paris, you know. Then, I don’t care where. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


37 


I’m just as much a stranger in one place as an- 
other!” Then, with a sudden access of passion, 
she exclaimed: “I’ll tell you what! I can’t 
make up my mind just now whether to set a 
high value on that heroic exploit of yours that 
day at Eltville or to regard it as a piece of 
tasteless obtrusiveness.” 

He looked at her with astonishment and per- 
plexity. That was the first time since the re- 
newal of their acquaintance that she had spoken 
directly about the little episode. 

“Oh, I say, Lena!” he murmured. 

“I had a right to do what I pleased with my 
life, I suppose,” she went on, gloomily. “I was 
of age!” 

“Lena, don’t blaspheme!” he said, seriously 
and warmly. “It seems to me that, taking 
things all in all, you ought to be satisfied with 
the way life has shaped itself for you. I won- 
der what you want.” 

“What I want! what I want!” she murmured, 
almost inaudibly. “I should like to feel happy, 
to be really happy — if it were only for one single 
hour, one hour!” 

His heart began to beat. He would gladly 
have looked into her eyes to see what was going 
on there ; but she kept her face averted from him 
in a marked manner. 

“Take your places!” cried the guard. 

“Adieu!” she cried, holding out her hand. 

He kissed her glove. 

“A kiss for Else and the children!” she cried; 


38 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


then quickly, and without looking round at him 
again, she got in. 

He thought she would show herself at the 
window. But she did not. A mad longing to 
look on her face again seized him. He put his 
foot upon the carriage steps to get in after her. 

One of the guards pulled him b^ck sharply. 
It was the last moment. The train dashed out, 
creaking and groaning, wrapped in a veil of 
white smoke. 

Werner stood immovable on the spot as if 
somebody had struck him over the head with 
a club. He felt confused, like a man half 
awake in a dream. It was some time before 
his faculties returned to him. And, when they 
did, his whole consciousness seemed merged in 
an all-pervading sense of desolation, loss, im- 
poverishment. 

“I should like to feel happy, to be really 
happy — if it were only for one single hour, 
one hour!” he murmured to himself. 

That old terrible thirst of his own soul for 
some great movement of the heart that should 
be of power to lift him above the lower things 
of earth came upon him with greater torture 
than at any previous moment. 

“Once, once, once, if only once!” he mur- 
mured to himself. 

And Lena was sitting as far back as she 
could in the corner of her compartment, weep- 
ing, weeping, weeping as if her heart would 
break. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


39 


BOOK //. 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

Some weeks had elapsed since Lena’s depart- 
ure from Berlin. 

After her arrival in Paris she wrote Else a 
letter full of the most laughable drollery, and the 
most moving affection. Then came a letter from 
Madrid, then one from London. The letters 
were shorter and shorter, seemed to have less 
and less purpose in them ; then they ceased alto- 
gether. She said not a word about Linden in 
any of them. To Werner she sent the same kind, 
stereotyped message in every one, in a postscript. 
But she took care to send a special and suitable 
message, full of tenderness and thoughtfulness, 
to each of the children, such as each of the little 
persons would appreciate. 

At first Werner used to ask Else, from time 
to time, whether any news of the traveler had 
come; then he stopped asking altogether. He 
scarcely ever mentioned her name. And, if it 
was brought up by anybody, either he kept out 
of the conversation altogether, or said something 
dry and indifferent. 

Else used then to look at him sadly, and shake 
her head ; she could not understand him at all. 
Once she observed: “I used to be so glad you 
and Lena were such friends ; I thought you were 


40 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


really fond of her ; and now you are always say- 
ing such hard things of her. She is a really fine 
creature, in her way!” 

“In her way — yes, I quite agree,” replied 
Werner. “But it’s a way that’s too much for 
my nerves ; after a certain quantity of it. I am 
glad to be at peace again, Else. Give me a kiss. ’ ’ 

“You monster!” replied Else; but, for all her 
exasperation at his injustice to her friend, the 
kiss that passed between them was unusually 
tender, on her part especially. Indeed, it would 
be not much amiss to say that the exasperation 
gave rather a flavor to the tenderness. 

Else did not understand, and did not try to 
understand, the working of her own feelings; 
but the fact was that she herself felt as if, with 
Lena’s departure, she was relieved of a certain 
pressure. And, during the first days after it took 
place, she went about like a creature made up of 
bird-song and sunshine. Werner did all he could 
to play a good second to her high spirits, went 
with her into society, and, when at home, tried 
to be as much a child in their talk and amuse- 
ments as she was herself. 

But that did not last. In fact, each day, after 
a certain moment, saw a change in him to greater 
and greater depression. Else attributed this de- 
pression, which seemed to her more sudden than 
it was, to a bad cold he took in the beginning of 
March, when he came home wet to the skin from 
a ride in the Grunewald. 

They began to fear an attack of violent rheum- 
atism, or, perhaps, an inflammation in the lungs. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


41 


However, it went no further than a sharp attack 
of grippe, with considerable fever and pain in 
the limbs; but the strange thing was that he 
could not get over it quite and recover his 
strength again. He lost flesh and appetite, be- 
came more melancholy every day, less and less 
able to rise out of himself. 

His medical advisers suggested change of air. 
And Else proposed that he should at last make 
that long- planned and postponed journey to Italy. 
He advanced all sorts of objections at first, but, 
at last, agreed. The first arrangement was that 
both of them, Else and he, should go ; then one 
of the children fell ill ; one or other of the three 
was always down with sickness, more or less. 
Else’s maternal anxiety was aroused. She could 
not bring herself to go and leave the children. 

Besides, the physician gave it as his opinion 
that it would be better for him to travel by him- 
self, perhaps. The trouble was in his nervous 
system, and what he required was amusement 
and rest both, rest as complete as he could get. 

The idea of the journey began to be quite 
acceptable to him. And he began once more to 
cram up his guide-books as he had done eight 
years before. That was at the outset. Then 
came an access of nervous anxiety, which made 
him put off the journey from day to day. He 
found it difficult to make up his mind one way 
or another. 

At last, one fine April evening, he really did 
make a start. 

At the last moment he found it scarcely pos- 


42 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


sible to tear himself away. When the decisive 
moment came Else was much braver than he. 
‘ ‘ Amuse yourself well, dear old man ! Stay as 
long as you like ; but do bring me back a happy 
face when you come home!” she said, when they 
took leave of one another. 

It was on the threshold of their dwelling, for 
she was averse to the idea of going with him to 
the station. Then she kissed him twice, thrice 
very fondly, and finally pushed him off with a 
little, tender, energetic slap, which was a fav- 
orite form of caress with her, and generally 
reserved for his benefit only. 

His eyes had moistened, and strange sensa- 
tions went through every fiber of his frame, 
when he left her and went down the stairs. She 
remained on the threshold, gazing after him as 
he went. When he had reached the tenth step 
below, and she was about to turn back into the 
hall, he turned round suddenly, dashed back to 
her with a couple of leaps, and took her in his 
arms. And now she burst into tears. He drew 
her back into the hall, kissed her again and 
again, and did not know how to show her tender- 
ness enough. “Oh, you angel! you dear, un- 
selfish angel!” he exclaimed. “It distresses me 
more than I can possibly say that I’ve tortured 
you so, these last few weeks. I don’t see how 
I can possibly part from you. Oar lives have 
grown to be so interwoven with each other ! I 
didn’t know how close till this agonizing parting 
came to show me!” 

“Is that so?” she said, in low tones, smiling 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


43 


through her tears, with her own charming, child- 
like smile, which contrasted so pathetically and 
sweetly with the furrows that had come too 
prematurely to her pure forehead. ‘‘Does the 
parting really give you a little pain?” 

“Pain! I really don’t know how to stand it. 
And I don’t know what’s the good of it. It can’t 
make much difference, after all, if I start to-day 
or to-morrow. I shall wait a few days. The 
children can have every attention paid to them 
here. And we’ll write to my mother to come to 
Berlin, to help in taking care of them. She’ll do 
that for me, I am quite sure ; though she’s not 
altogether satisfied with me, I know ; and then 
we’ll set off together. We’re in arrears up to 
this very moment with our wedding-journey, 
you know we are.” 

She looked at him very attentively. She 
seemed to hesitate and reflect for a moment. 
Then, suddenly, in the midst of his agitation and 
affection, he had a distinct perception that his 
heart was beginning to slacken, and that, in the 
very bottom of that heart, there was more fear 
than hope that she would fall in with his sug- 
gestion. 

“Oh! it’s all nonsense — mere folly!” she ex- 
claimed, pulling herself together. “The real 
truth is that I’m glad to get rid of you for a lit- 
tle while!” 

“Are you so heartily sick of me as all that?” 
he joked, somewhat awkwardly. 

“No, dear!” she replied, “not the least bit in 
the world sick of you, and well you know it ; but 


44 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


I’m just a little bit tired out, Werner. The sep- 
aration will do us both good. I shall have plenty 
of leisure to take stock of the past and see how, 
perhaps, I might have done better than I have. 
And you — you will — when you are so far away, 
will, perhaps, learn — ” She stopped short; she 
could not find words to express what she wanted 
to say. 

“How necessary you are to me,” murmured 
he. “I’ve learned that lesson quite well already, 
believe me, my dear, noble, brave little guardian 
angel!” 

Some movement was heard on the other side 
of the parlor door. 

“Oh, Heavens! we shall have the children out 
again if we don’t take care, and then we shall 
have to go over it all again, and that would be a 
fine thing!” exclaimed Else. “Adieu! Be off 
with you ! Adieu ! And, once more, stay away 
as long as you want, but let me see some joy 
on your face when it meets mine again!” 

One last kiss, and then she pushed him from 
her, this time more energetically than before. 

He got into the cab which was waiting for 
him below. 

The lights of the street-lamps were flickering 
in the lengthening spring twilight, and throwing 
spots of pale-green on the branches of the trees 
in the Leipzig Place, where the leaves were be- 
ginning to come shyly out of the sheaths of the 
buds. 

He looked up once more to the windows of his 
home, and then sighed deeply. All sorts of 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


45 


thoughts and memories chased one another rap- 
idly through his brain. Stupid little proceed- 
ings which he had been formerly guilty of, and 
which had long passed away from his mind, came 
strangely up in it again ; then came a fit of long- 
ing to turn and go back again; then oheof those 
strange moods of his in which he could not, for 
the life of him, say what he wanted; then a 
terrible mixture of anxiety and melancholy ; all 
these serious changes of feeling he experienced 
in that ride to the Anhalt Station. And he was 
there before he had shaken himself fully back 
into the real world again. 

Like a man in a dream, he went to the ticket- 
office, took his ticket, and saw to his baggage. 
He had no time to waste, his train was soon to 
go. He went pretty quickly up the broad, dirty 
stairs that led to the trains. There were the 
rails, like a set of ruled lines on the ground, 
leading out so quietly and yet so significantly 
into the distance, far away into the wide world 
— and liberty ! His breast began almost invol- 
untarily to expand ; he threw his shoulders back, 
he stretched himself to his full height. Then — 
ah ! what was it? What was this that he could 
not shake off, do what he would? This burden 
on the soul that seemed to weigh his very body 
down to earth; this constant sense of some 
wound within, of calamity to come? He could 
not but reflect upon the difference between now 
and then, and with what gladness and elation 
he would have sprung into the train, that was 
to carry him away, eight years before. What 


46 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


was this burden that he had to drag along with 
him morning, noon and night, which made 
every movement pain, and which was so firmly 
fastened to his life that he could not rid himself 
of it now without cutting deeply into his flesh 
and opening his very veins? Unhappy man, 
what? 

Most of the rails were occupied by trains. At 
the head of one of these a locomotive snorted 
and creaked, all hidden in white vapor, and 
looking like some mysterious monster wrapped 
in a veil. This was Werner’s train. 

Baggage trucks were being rolled here and 
there ; small groups of travelers began to ap- 
proach the carriages. Plenty of joking and 
laughter was going on, and, among the other 
sounds, was that of a few resounding German 
farewell kisses; then somebody sneezed, and 
there was more laughing. 

Werner looked round. The noise nearest him 
proceeded from a wedding patry. The two 
young people, who had just been made one, were 
the central, unmistakable figures of a large 
group consisting of parents, brothers, sisters, 
and other relatives, near and distant ; the whole 
tribe, on both sides of the house, seemed to have 
been collected to see them off. Werner’s sensa- 
tions were quite peculiar. He looked a little 
closer at them. The young husband was a nice- 
looking fellow enough, who carried himself well, 
blonde, with a smooth-shaven face leaving only 
a mustache with an aggressive sort of twist in 
it, evidently a soldier’s face. Werner could have 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


47 


sworn to him, among a thousand, as an officer out 
of uniform. The poor fellow was a good deal 
agitated and excited, and, as was only too obvi- 
ous, a little ashamed of his emotion. He wiped 
his eyes furtively, now and then, and was quite 
unable to conceal that he was over his head and 
his healthy red ears in love with his young wife. 
As to her — well, the most indulgent of the read- 
ers of character would hardly have been able to 
give her many good marks. She was nothing 
more than a little lively brunette, full of vivacity 
and self-consciousness, but her features, though 
they had not yet lost their youthful roundness, 
showed a distinct tendency to sharpness of out- 
line which did not promise well for monsieur 
her husband in the days to come. The little lady 
showed by her style of dress and all her move- 
ments that she not only wanted to concentrate 
the attention of everybody upon herself, but also 
to make them feel what a superior creature she 
was to them all. 

“The vain little toad! What an unhappy, 
henpecked creature he’ll be!” thought Werner. 

Just then the bridegroom seized her by the 
arm and drew her back a little to save her from 
being violently collided with by a porter who 
was carrying along some baggage in rather a 
reckless way. How carefully and tenderly the 
poor fellow did it, as if she was the most pre- 
cious, the most fragile, the most sacred of all the 
things, animate and inanimate, on this world’s 
surface ! And what a look of indifference it was 
that she repaid him with ! 


48 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“What’s the matter with you now, Albert? 
Am I in some mortal peril again?” 

It hurt Werner to hear her. He could not help 
thinking of the afternoon of his wedding-day, 
when he and Else went off together from the 
little station near Krugenberg. His mother’s 
pale face came up before him again. The old 
lady clung to Else’s side as though she could not 
bear the thought of parting with her, and, every 
now and then, gave her son a look which was full 
of scrutiny and warning. Then, there was Else’s 
tender and sweet confusion. All her male adorers 
and female friends had moved in force upon the 
station, and were there, en masse , to bid her good- 
by. And endless was the laughing and chatter- 
ing. And, a little while before they went off, 
the ceremony was crowned by the sudden burst- 
ing forth of Mendelssohn’s W edding March. One 
of Else’s greatest admirers had ordered the band 
there without letting anybody know, and he had 
hidden the musicians out of sight in a little 
clump of trees close by. 

It was late in October when the event took 
place. The tendrils of the wild vine, with which 
the station was wreathed, were blood-red, the 
storms of the dying year had loosened them from 
their stems, and they were tossing about in the 
wind against a background of slate-gray sky, 
and scattering their decaying leaves into the 
puddles on the ground. 

Then the two were together in the compart- 
ment. And well he recalled the strange sensa- 
tion of uneasiness, almost of being shut up in a 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


49 


sort of prison, which, for the first few moments, 
overcame him. It was not that he was left 
alone with Else. He had been often enough left 
alone with her since their engagement. No; it 
was the sudden feeling that the two were now 
shut up together, and away from their kind for 
life — in marriage. For a little while he could 
not find a word to bless her or himself with. 
They sat mum opposite one another for fully ten 
minutes, mum as wooden dolls. Her sweet, shy 
little face became sadder and sadder. She fast- 
ened her eyes upon his with a fixed look, which 
expressed partly a sense of injury and, still 
more, entreaty and — suddenly burst into tears! 

Oh ! then his presence of mind came back to 
him directly, and he lost no time in taking her 
into his arms and in consoling her with caresses 
and kisses. As it began so it went on. . The 
girl never had any difficulty in finding a way 
into his heart. But he had a head, too, and she 
did not possess the secret of interesting and bring- 
ing that head with her as well. 

Poor Else ! 

He came back with a start to his immediate 
surroundings. 

The smoke veil in which the locomotive was 
wrapped became thicker and thicker. 

The young, newly-made wife, with the too 
sharp nose and voice, was embraced again and 
again by her relatives. The young husband re- 
leased himself gently from his mother’s arms, 
and said, with the compassionate air of an exe- 


50 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


cutioner in love with some victim he is about 
to decapitate : “Come, my angel!” 

The man with Werner’s baggage came up to 
him, and asked: “First-class?” 

A few moments later Werner was leaning 
back in the corner of a compartment, with noth- 
ing to cheer him but red velvet cushions. 

He had the unpleasant feeling, restless and 
discontented at once, of a man who gets up in 
the middle of the night to take part in some cel- 
ebration or other,, and who cannot help asking 
the question whether it’s worth all that trouble. 

A yearning for the comforting warmth in 
which everybody enveloped him so carefully at 
that home which he had left behind came upon 
him with great force. He saw his children’s 
faces one after the other ; Else ! 

He looked out of the window ; a confused mass 
of houses seemed to shoot past him, an irregular 
row of windows more or less lighted up. Then 
the houses were fewer and fewer ; then they shot 
up in solitary units, standing apart from com- 
pleted terraces in the midst of land as yet un- 
built on. It became more and more gloomy. Xhe 
street-lamps failed altogether, even the outlines 
of buildings could no more be traced ; nothing 
could be seen but the lights in such windows as 
had them. Then all was dark ; the whole earth 
black ; and, above it, just one atom less dark than 
the earth, the vault of the sky ! 

Everything dark ; only here and there a little 
glimmering point of light in some house below, 
and, above, the uncertain glimmer of a few stars. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


51 


It seemed to Werner’s fancy as though the whole 
world was filled with will-o’-the-wisps, dancing 
jack-o’-lanterns, earth and sky alike. But those 
that were on the earth vanished from his sight ; 
those that were in the sky remained fixed, but 
were not less will-o’-the-wisps for all that. All 
the lights were false, or at least uncertain. 

His first stoppage was at Munich. And 
wretched enough the hotel appeared to him. He 
seemed to have no elasticity in him, and his soli- 
tary meals were most depressing. Every moment 
his thoughts went back to his home, taking him 
violently with them, and everything seemed a 
weariness to the flesh. A rapid run through the 
Pinakothek and Glyptothek showed him that 
painting and sculpture were of not much use to 
him in his present mood, so he went back to the 
hotel and wrote a long and tender letter to Else. 
He informed her that if traveling didn’t suit him 
better than he had found it do so far, he should 
probably find himself once more at his home with 
her again in a fortnight. It was quite a piece of 
good fortune that he had not taken tickets for a 
long round of places everywhere. And he quite 
positively would not, in any case, go further 
than Venice. 

Then, when autumn came, they would go off 
somewhere together, the whole batch of them. 
This gadding about alone would never be of any 
good to him. He was spoiled altogether for bach- 
elor life. He felt the want of the wife and the 
bairns every moment. 

And he went on to tell her that he kept asking 


52 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


himself this question all the time, “And they 
call this taking one’s pleasure, do they?” It 
was more like a perpetual dose of medicine. 


CHAPTER XXXII. 


Verona! 

He arrived here early in the morning. And 
his sensations so affected his fancy that it seemed 
to him as though he had been suddenly borne 
upon a sunbeam out of the north, with its still 
clinging winter, into the south and the spring, 
so fairy-like was the light, so brilliant in its 
mixture of white and blue. 

And the light, as well as all it shone on, was 
soft and tender. There was, as yet, nothing of 
the loud, obtrusive, aniline- blue that comes with 
the advanced summer of Italy. There was still 
a slight moisture in the air which enveloped all 
the contours of things in a sort of golden, glim- 
mering glory. 

He could not sit still for a moment. All day 
long he went wandering from one place to an- 
other, with fever in his pulses, overwhelmed 
and intoxicated with beauty. How noble it all 
was ! What wonderful pictures in every direc- 
tion! 

The Piazza d’Erbe — the vegetable market! 
A motley collection of white, gray, red umbrel- 
las, and, underneath them, a confusion of golden 
oranges, vegetables and flowers; all swimming 
in a sea of light that seemed as though it posi- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


53 


tively had nerves and sensibility, all surrounded 
by buildings of almost capricious originality, but 
a noble and dignified originality, too; buildings 
from which the hand of time had nearly effaced 
the frescoes that once were vivid, so that in their 
later vagueness they now seemed no more than 
the echo of their earlier glory of color, or a mere 
memory, faint as that which dreams leave be- 
hind them. 

Old churches ; many old churches ! In one of 
these, music ; music that seemed to fill the build- 
ing to overflowing ! And the light so subdued 
and mystical, half revealing, half concealing all 
within. And the light and music so blending 
in the fancy, that the harmonies of the organ 
and the voices seemed to be something growing 
out of the influences of the place rather than pro- 
duced by human instrumentality. Painted win- 
dows, through which this light came, made mys- 
tical in its transit, light of all the colors of the 
rainbow, light which seemed to hover like a Pres- 
ence over the heads of the kneeling worshipers ! 

The priest elevated the Host. Behind him 
shone the lights upon the altar. A slight shiver 
ran through Werner. Suddenly, the will-o’-the- 
wisp lights which had seemed to crowd round 
him on his journey there came thronging about 
him again. The whole church seemed to be 
filled with them. And the conflict between 
worlds real and unreal threatened to break out 
again within his soul, in spite of Italy. 

The day was Sunday. He had not realized it 
before he went into the church. How long it 


54 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


was since he had cared whether it was one day 
or date rather than another ! 

It was to the Cathedral that he had paid the 
visit we have just been speaking of. After leav- 
ing it he went to look at other churches. In all 
of them the same odors of incense, wax candles, 
and old walls, with something of the perfume 
of the glowing spring forcing its way to mingle 
with the objects and influences within. 

He took no guide with him ; a valet de place 
would have made it all too real, disturbed the 
half dreamy state which he preferred to remain 
in. He did not desire to study things with pe- 
dantic, or, indeed, any sort of accuracy. He 
preferred that they should pass through his sys- 
tem like a melody not attentively listened to, 
but merely rousing vaguely pleasurable sensa- 
tions, as though he were but gathering material 
for future dreams. 

He went, vaguely also, into the midst of one 
crowd of worshipers after another, spending a 
few minutes at one high mass and a few min- 
utes at another, and profiting a little unscrupu- 
lously, as tourists do, by that peculiarity of 
Catholic devotion which exempts it from being 
troubled by the obtrusive curiosity of those su- 
perior tramps. 

As a matter of course, he went to that sight 
of sights, that special glory of Verona, the 
tombs of the Scaligers, with their wonderful in- 
closure of chain- work ; and, like everybody else, 
was fascinated by the strange, ghostly, mutilated 
statue of Can Grande, with his charger and its 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


55 


remarkable trappings. He visited the old Arena, 
and was duly impressed by its grandiose old 
gray-brown walls under their canopy of blue 
sky. In the middle of the august old ruin a 
company of Cingalese acrobats happened to have 
pitched their tents, an incongruity fascinating to 
him. He went to the Canossa Palace, with its 
wonderful fresco ceilings by Tiepolo, and its 
Loggia, with its noble view of the Adige; he 
visited the steep Justi gardens to see their eccen- 
tric confusion of rose-trees and cypresses. Ah ! 
these cypresses, so severe in their blackness, re- 
lieved only by that subtly small edge of gold 
which makes an outline of palpable brightness 
amid their gloom ! How strange the effect of 
those cypresses, in the-midst of the pervading 
odor of violets and roses, which seemed the very 
breath of the rushing spring! And, fighting 
with that breath of Life, as if representative of 
the claims of Death that would not be denied, 
the reek of yew and damp moss with its sugges- 
tions of the churchyard. 

He dined. And, if matters had been propitious, 
he would have gone afterward to one of the two 
theaters. But alas ! At one of these there was 
to be “The Ironmaster,” at the other “La Fille 
de Madame Angot.” In Verona! It was out of 
the question. Nothing better there than a dram- 
atization of one of Ohnet’s half rubbishy novels, 
or an opera-bouffe. In Verona! 

So, as the theater failed, he determined to go 
back to his hotel and write to Else. He retired 
to his room, and, after doctoring the dried con- 


56 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


tents of his inkstand with a little water, began 
to pour out all his enthusiasm in an essay — for 
letter it was not — to which production he gave 
the superscription and title, “Dear Else.” 

There was no blotting-paper at hand, so he 
waved the paper to and fro a little to quicken 
the drying of the rather closely-written matter. 
As he did so, his attention was so forcibly struck 
by one and another sentence, that he stopped and 
read the whole thing through, and could not help 
blushing over it a little. It was all warm and 
heartfelt enough, but antiquated in expression, 
with here and there old-fashioned twists in the 
style, with something too much, also, of a dead 
set in its purpose ; there was something, too, of 
the guide-book, dry, pedantic. And, now and 
then, some highly poetical simile was dragged 
in by the head and shoulders into the dry incon- 
gruities of the descriptions and enumerations 
and inventories with which the paper was prin- 
cipally filled. 

His face reddened when he thought of what 
Else would say to those high-flown things ! 

She always used to laugh heartily at him when 
he attempted, as she put it, to get up and hover 
about in the higher spheres. 

He bit his lips. His first impulse was to tear 
up the document, but he could not find it in his 
heart to do so, so he simply laid it aside. It 
might do, after all, as the commencement of a 
diary of his visit to Italy. Perhaps the scribble 
might bring back with it, in those gray, desolate 
days which he foresaw in the future, something 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


57 


of the charm with which he was now sur- 
rounded. 

When he had got over this little struggle, he 
rang for the waiter and ordered some blotting- 
paper, that he might not have another stoppage 
in his second attempt. And he now wrote Else 
a good-humored, sober communication, full of 
such details as he knew would amuse her, and 
which lay altogether outside the region of his 
enthusiasms. And, at the end of the letter, he 
thanked her for having forced him to make the 
journey. 

It was true that he felt terribly lonely, and 
could not, do what he would, rid himself of his 
longing for home ; but, for all that, the shaking 
up had done him some good, and he was gaining 
in spirits. It was really all of it quite too inter- 
esting and lovely ; and, in a few years, when the 
children had grown a little, he thought that he 
would like to spend a winter in Italy with his 
family; and Else would see what a splendid 
guide he would make. And when he had all his 
dear ones with him his enjoyment would, of 
course, be doubled. Then, a few tendernesses 
by way of finale, the signature, and the letter 
was finished. 

After he had got through with it he went to 
the window and looked out. 

The twilight was closing swiftly in. One of 
the street-lamps was suddenly lighted. Through 
the air there came one last dreamy clang of bells, 
the monotonous sound of slow footsteps, and the 
dull, half sob and half sigh of some love-song, 


J 

58 CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 

with a guitar accompaniment, sung by some one 
in the distance. 

Werner turned away from the window. His 
melancholy seized him again with a sudden 
grasp. He felt tired, desolate. But this was 
not the same feeling of pain at being separated 
from his family which he had found it so diffi- 
cult to combat in the first day or two of his jour- 
ney. It was a feeling quite different, as far 
asunder from that longing of the husband and 
father as one pole is from another. And he un- 
derstood this only too clearly and too well. 

The atmosphere of the south and the spring had 
made him thirsty. And what was it he thirsted 
for? Human sympathy, some one with whom, 
indeed, he could be wholly one in sympathy ; the 
happiness which comes of that companionship, 
and of that companionship only. And for this 
sympathy, this unity, this companionship, his 
soul burned with an intense yearning which he 
had never yet known under northern skies. 
And, in the glare of this longing, the milder 
light of his desire for Else and his children 
seemed to be quenched. 


CHAPTER XXXIII. 

The days came and went. Venice, Ferrara, 
Modena, Bologna; all these cities he had now 
visited and delighted in. 

His enthusiasm with all the multitude of 
beautiful things he was constantly enjoying 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


59 


rose higher and higher with every place he 
visited. But, together with this enthusiasm, 
there was that sense of restlessness, that crav- 
ing and yearning, which was anything but a 
longing to be back in his home and with the 
inmates of his home again. 

It might be said that his soul was haunted, 
even pervaded, by a noble and beautiful melody; 
but the harmonies which were necessary to its 
support were utterly wanting. So that this 
inner strain was, indeed, rather strain and pain 
than music. 

Was there some poison in this Italian atmos- 
phere — so his sick fancy questioned — that it thus 
roused into baneful growth again roots of vague 
desires which, he had hoped, had long since 
been wholly extirpated from his being? 

He had now been five full days in Florence. 
In Florence during early May ! The whole earth 
has nothing more beautiful than this union of 
spring with the City of Flowers, and yet — ! 

It was not that he was unable to throw him- 
self with interest into these wonderful surround- 
ings. It was not that he had sat down idly 
folding his hands now that he was there. On 
the contrary, he had been actively studying, and 
feeding his admiration on, the beautiful things 
of the city. 

He rose every morning at six, and strolled 
along the Arno to watch the town as it slowly 
woke up to its day’s work. He sallied out at 
midnight to feast on the moonlit beauties of the 
Piazza della Signoria. He wandered about from 


60 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


one beautiful thing to another; but that feeling 
of dissatisfaction, that inner and vague discon- 
tent, went with him everywhere. 

The conclusion had been forced upon him that 
the journey had not brought about the result 
which it had been undertaken for. His nervous 
system had, so far, been injuriously rather than 
beneficially affected by it. He had come, there- 
fore, to the resolution of turning back without 
going on to Rome. And this resolution he had 
already communicated to Else. 

It was his^purpose to begin the return journey 
with the least possible delay; indeed, at the mo- 
ment we meet him again in Florence, it was his 
idea to start on the following morning. That 
day, therefore, he had been sight-seeing with 
unusual energy from a very early hour. 

He had sauntered about inspecting one thing 
after another for full three hours .in the Pitti 
Palace and the Uffizi. He was able to consume 
much larger portions of art at one meal — if the 
expression may be allowed — than most people 
can do; but whether he could digest them is 
another question. 

He had never had any of that training which 
enables a person to discern and criticise art 
with full intelligence of the purpose and tech- 
nique of any given work. But he could not 
avoid making his own classifications and dis- 
criminations. These, however, were based on 
personal preference rather than any principle 
of criticism. If a work had anything to say 
to him personally he enjoyed and approved 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


61 


it. Color, therefore, and dramatic intensity 
were what attracted him most. To composi- 
tion and drawing — the more technical elements 
of art — he was comparatively indifferent. 

For the rest, what principally influenced him, 
by way either of attraction or repulsion, was 
the general purpose of any particular work, 
rather than its specific values, as the critics 
call them. 

The sober realism of the artists of the Dutch 
School, with their small canvases or panels, 
repelled him. He was quite insensible to the 
high technical value that distinguishes so much 
of their work. The grandiose cynicism of the 
Bacchanalian scenes of Rubens was offensive to 
susceptibilities which had never shaken off the 
influence of early and rather narrow religious 
training, however much these scrupulous ele- 
ments in him may have been weakened by philo- 
sophic theorizing. And the Rubens work was 
just as little calculated to satisfy the high-flown 
poetic idealism which had been too strong in 
him for both the religious training and the 
philosophy. And, now, when he saw a deli- 
cate young girl standing before one of that 
master’s orgies in colors, with an expression of 
astonishment on her face, but, also, evidently 
bent upon learning all about the work, subject 
and values both, as a conscientious young tourist 
should, he felt himself growing hot all over, and 
would much have liked to go up to her and take 
her away by main force. 

However, this repugnance was not excited by 


62 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


Titian in the least. Quite the contrary. He 
felt nothing but enthusiasm for that master. In 
Titian everything was governed by poetic feel- 
ing, and the result was poetry itself. Even the 
ardor and fires of earthly enjoyments became 
sublimated and poetized under that hand. The 
artists whose productions he appreciated least 
of all were the earliest men, the primitives 
as they may be called — the Cimabues, the Giot- 
tos, the Angelicos. And if he studied the re- 
markable productions of these early pioneers 
with close attention, it was because he knew 
that Lena had a special affection for the art 
period when Beauty was not yet dominant over 
Religion. 

There was one picture, however, of the some- 
what later pre-Raphaelite era which riveted him 
particularly, and the study of which, whenever 
he stood before it, inspired him with deeper and 
deeper reflections every time. This was Botti- 
celli’s “Spring.” 

On this day before his meditated departure he 
left the Uffizi and went to the Academy to pay 
a special visit to this work that so fascinated 
him. 

The picture is one which sends a thrill of hor- 
ror through the observer, even in the midst of 
any enjoyment it may afford. Indeed, its power 
may be said to consist in the fact that the study 
of it causes a sort of collision between the two 
opposing principles of disgust and enthusiasm — 
enthusiasm for its pure poetry, disgust for its 
underlying cynicism — both of which principles 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


63 


are equally represented within its four corners. 
In fact, the work is the most decided represen- 
tative of that conflict of tendencies between the 
unruly sensualism of the Renaissance and the 
ardent purities of the earlier Christian asceticism. 

There can be no more curious subject of specu-. 
lation than the purpose which the painter had in 
view when he composed this picture. What 
means that white figure in the center, with the 
pale, tired countenance crowned by a wreath of 
superb spring flowers? What do those Graces 
signify, with their inimitable sweetness and 
fascination? What means that flying nymph, 
with the flowers dropping out of her mouth, 
who looks round as she flees — looks round at 
that demon who is introducing the principle of 
life into the world in the ghastly form of ex- 
pectoration from his evil mouth? 

Werner had read that Botticelli, in a fit of 
repentant horror, had flung his pictures into the 
burning mass of the Pyramid of Vanities, erected 
by Savonarola for the sacrificial purification of 
Humanity, which was being swallowed up in 
the pestilential bogs of debauchery. He could 
well understand the impulse which actuated the 
painter in this destruction of his labors. But 
he could not help grieving bitterly for the works 
of art thus lost to the world. Nor could he help 
asking himself what could have been the sub- 
jects of these pictures which had thus been held 
unworthy of longer life. It was, perhaps, a 
natural curiosity. 

He stood, lost in thoughts of this kind, before 


64 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


the Botticelli, but was suddenly startled by some- 
thing. It was a strong smell of musk. 

“Oh, what a fortunate chance! How very 
delightful ! ” he heard a rather loud voice 
exclaim close to him. He looked up and his 
eyes met the fine eyes of the Princess Orbanoff. 

She had on a straw hat, with staring, red 
feathers and a light gray English costume, 
made in Vienna, and fitting her figure tightly; 
an arrangement which did every justice to the 
fine, if slightly overfilled, outlines of her form. 
By her side was a very dry and yellow Some- 
thing, feminine in sex, with the sour corners 
of Its mouth drawn down, and a profile which 
was as sharp and unconciliatory as a headsman’s 
ax. It was a rather elderly lady, in a loose fit- 
ting, dark blue Foulard dress and a rather gro- 
tesque hat, which was, however, within the 
limits of the fashion of the moment. 

“Allow me to present you to my sister-in- 
law,” continued the princess, bowing rather 
stiffly to Werner, who was speechless with 
astonishment. “The Baron Schlitzing — Prin- 
cess Irene Orbanoff” (this in French). “My 
sister does not understand a word of German,” 
added the princess. “My husband is hunting 
about in every direction for any ecclesiastical 
curiosities that may be for sale. He wanted 
me to go with him, but I flatly refused.” She 
laughed as she said this, a little scornfully. 

‘ T am extremely pleased, too, princess, at this 
opportunity of renewing our acquaintance,” said 
Werner. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


65 


“My sister-in-law is not a little difficult to live 
with. But what can you expect? She is an 
old maid.” The Croatian said this hurriedly, 
and in a rather low voice. “But she’s not at all 
hard to manage. You must tell her that her 
profile reminds you of Michael Angelo’s ‘Night.’ 
The story goes that the Emperor Louis Napoleon 
made this remark to her thirty years ago, at a 
ball at the Tuileries. Pray don’t forget ! When 
you want a watch-dog to keep quiet you must 
throw it a bone', you know. Ah ! excuse me, dear 
(speaking French now, and turning to her sister- 
in-law). I was asking Baron Schlitzing about 
his family. He doesn’t speak French quite 
fluently. They are all right, baron?” 

“Thank God, yes.” 

“I am so pleased to meet an old acquaintance 
like this!” the Croatian lady went on. “Flor- 
ence is killing. It bores me to death!” 

“I’m sure I find it most interesting, for my 
part,” said Princess Irene. “I am so passion- 
ately fond of art, and, above all, of Michael 
Angelo!” And, as she said the words, the Rus- 
sian lowered her yellow eyelids modestly. 

Princess Ilka blinked at Werner, to suggest 
that now was his time ; but all he said was : 
“Michael Angelo interests me, too, very much, 
but I understand painting much better than 
sculpture. The artist who most takes my fancy 
here is Titian.” 

It would appear, from this, that Werner had 
no particular wish to keep the watch- dog in good 
temper. 


66 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


This turn of matters did not suit the princess 
at all. “You have no tact at all!” she said to 
him, in German. She was one of those women 
who take it as a matter of course that any man 
in whom they interest themselves at all, must at 
once fall desperately in love with them. When 
this system is perseveringly carried out it is not 
at all unlikely to bring in returns some time. A 
man of more than average politeness may find it 
difficult to discover a courteous way to dispel the 
lady’s illusions. 

Besides, in the present case, it cannot be de- 
nied that Werner had not too carefully guarded 
the Croatian lady from falling into this favorite 
delusion of hers. She might be forgiven for im- 
agining that he did take some more than com- 
mon interest in her. 

“Do you intend to make a much longer stay 
in Florence?” he now asked Princess Ilka’s 
sister-in-law, turning away rather decidedly 
from the princess herself. 

“Certainly until my brother’s return,” that 
lady replied. 

“Yes,” struck in Princess Ilka, “we shall 
have to wait here till he has got together enough 
church trumpery to satisfy him. It’s simply kill- 
ing! When there’s not even a theater open; 
nothing but a sort of winter garden, where peo- 
ple smoke, and you can only go under the escort 
of a gentleman. Will you chaperon us there?” 

“I assure you that you would not find it worth 
while,” he replied. “I’ve been there, and was 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


67 


nearly bored to death ; the only time I have had 
the sensation of boredom in Florence. ’ 9 

“Hm! Well, you’ll go with us, at all events, 
to the Villa Ceraschi?” said the princess, insin- 
uatingly; “they say that’s something wonder- 
ful.” 

“The flowers there are certainly remarkable,” 
he answered, absently. Something or other 
grated horribly on his nerves. Perhaps it was 
a rather hot wind that was blowing, quite a lit- 
tle sirocco. Perhaps it was the laughing glances 
of Princess Ilka. 

“So, you’ve been there already?” cried the 
princess, in a voice of disappointment. 

“I think I’ve been pretty nearly every where, ” 
he declared, “and I’m beginning to feel that 
I’ve had enough of it, and my idea is to go home 
again, to-morrow, or the day after.” 

“Really! Do you mean to say that you won’t 
go on to Rome? I should have supposed that 
Rome would have been perfectly irresistible to 
you just now, a perfect magnet!” 

“How so?” 

“Countess Retz is there.” 

“Really! my wife’s great friend? I had not 
the least idea!” 

“Really not? What injustice we may do peo- 
ple!” The pulses of the Croatian lady began 
to beat more rapidly. 

“Not the least idea in the world,” said Wer- 
ner, positively, who felt as if everything was 
going round. “Besides, the matter has really 
very little interest for me,” he went on, hastily, 


68 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


but by no means truthfully. “May I be per- 
mitted to ask, princess, whether you have any 
idea of going on to Rome?” 

1 1 Most assuredly ! ’ 5 

“That’s almost enough to make me waver in 
my resolution of going back directly,” he as- 
sured her. 

“I wonder if you are speaking the truth?” 
asked Ilka, flattered, as so many women so 
easily are. “How much we may wrong people !” 
she continued. “I really suspected that you 
were following in the wake of that green-eyed 
bean-pole!” 

“You don’t say so, princess!” He seemed 
quite changed, all of a sudden. He smiled in a 
most amiable and conciliatory way, as a man is 
apt to smile upon a woman who is detecting him 
in some inadmissible feeling, and whom he 
wants to throw off the scent. “I’ve been a good 
deal entertained by Countess Retz’s conversation, 
and she is an intimate friend of my wife. But, 
to speak quite frankly, she is one of those per- 
sons whom I cannot at all understand a man’s 
falling in love with. She’s a good sort of com- 
rade, however. Are you quite certain that she 
is in Rome?” 

“Whether she’s there at this very moment, or 
how long she means to stay, I cannot positively 
say,” the princess went on. “It’s just as likely 
as not that, at this present speaking, she’s steam- 
ing off to Constantinople or Kamtschatka. She’s 
one of those creatures who can’t be quiet any- 
where. All I know is that I received, quite 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


69 


lately, a letter from a friend at Rome, informing 
me that the countess was there then. But, the 
idea of my being the first to tell you about it 
all ! It’s really too comical ! But don’t you think 
these pictures here in the Academy rather more 
tiresome than at the other places? Can’t we 
find something more amusing in the place?” 

Princess Irene proposed the vault where the 
famous tombs of the Medici are. 

Werner was not at all disposed to protract this 
chat with the ladies ; was a little sick of it, in 
fact ; so he took out his watch and expressed his 
polite regret that he must leave them, as he had 
an appointment to breakfast with a friend from 
Germany. 

The princess asked him, in her most flattering 
way, to spend the afternoon in doing something 
or other together with her sister-in-law and her- 
self. “We’ll fetch you with the carriage about 
four,” she said, “and then we’ll drive some- 
where and settle something about Rome. ’ ’ 

“With pleasure, princess!” he cried; he would 
have said anything to get away. “It’s all the 
same where you take me too. If it pleases you 
to lead the way to the Inferno, I shall certainly 
follow.” 

“Where are you putting up?” she asked, look- 
ing at him tenderly. 

“At the Hotel Italy,” he replied, kissing her 
hand. Then he bowed to her sister-in-law, and 
went off. 

The sky was gray when he stepped into the 
streets, and the air was close and sultry. The 


70 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


flower-sellers pressed their wares on him on 
every side ; big baskets they had, full of irises, 
roses and white lilies. 

Oh, strange world! so sad, so seductive, so 
lovely ! 

Florence was not the unloveliest thing in that 
world, but it had suddenly lost all its charm for 
him. The very ground seemed to burn under 
his feet. The whole city seemed suddenly to be 
turned, in his eyes, into a sort of orderly disor- 
derly confusion of black and white marble, re- 
minding him of a chess-board ; black and white 
marble, and endless green shutters at the win- 
dows. 

Returning to his hotel, he found a letter from 
Else. He opened it hastily. She wrote : 

“Dear Werner — First, let me give you a 
big, big kiss for writing me such a nice, full, 
long letter. There’s no one in the world can write 
prettier letters than you, sweetheart! For my 
sweetheart you are, just as much as ever ; though 
that’s nobody’s business but ours. You have 
such a telling, lively way of describing things, 
that it makes me feel as if I were looking on 
them all myself by your side. When you come 
home, I shall be able to tell you quite as much 
about your journey as you know yourself. 

“There’s only one thing that puts me out a 
little, dear, and that is that your spirits are not 
as high, you are not as cheerful quite as I could 
wish. You are not used to being alone, now, 
you say in your letters, and it makes you feel ill 
at ease every way. I suppose that is it. Ah, 
my love ! I can’t help confessing that I do feel 
pleased, now and then, to know that you are not 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


71 


quite the thing away from me. I’m horribly 
pleased at it sometimes, I fear. Then, in a little 
while, I’m just as horribly ashamed at my self- 
ishness, and am so sorry, so very sorry for you ; 
and then I break my head in trying to think of 
some way of mending matters for you. Have 
you really made up your mind to turn back 
without going on to Rome? I can’t help think- 
ing that would be a pity. Lena is there. I had 
a long letter from her yesterday full of details. 
She writes that, after a great deal of irregular 
going about from one place to another, she is at 
last landed, or stranded — she doesn’t exactly 
know which — in Rome. But she feels at peace 
at last, something like the peace of a wrecked 
ship, or some human creature too tired to stir 
another step, and who is dispensed, therefore, 
from forming any resolutions about further prog- 
ress, as he positively cannot stir from the spot. 
Rome, she declares, is beyond expression beauti- 
ful, fabulously beautiful, and the waves of spring 
are all streaming together over its old walls, 
and it looks as if the old ruins would be swamped 
outright in a sea of flowers. 

“Rome, she allows, is certainly more lovely 
than Berlin, but she will not allow that it is more 
lovely than our Leipzig Place. That , she writes, 
is quite, quite the first of all places in the world. 
That dear, cozy, sweet family life, that sweet, 
teasing, tender prattle of the children, that hearty 
affection of their parents, she misses painfully 
everywhere. Never did she enjoy anything so 
much in her whole life as that little bit of famil- 
iar household life which she had the privilege of 
enjoying with us. 

“I intended to send you the letter, but Dinchen 
has cut it up into bits to make a paper chain with. 

“Lena, I am sure, will do everything in her 
power to make Rome as pleasant as possible to 
you. And I’m sure that you, though you pick 


72 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


all sorts of holes in her, poor soul, will en joy- 
meeting some one on your travels with whom 
you can talk freely about us. 

“She is living in the Street M — , at the Villa 
Brancaleone. A garden is called villa in Rome, 
she writes me. Isn’t that too funny? (Then 
came all sorts of household and family details.) 
A thousand kisses from thine Else. 

“P. S. — Don’t forget to try and make Linden 
a matter of conscience with Lena. Her last let- 
ter, in reply to one of his, was much more like 
rejection than acceptance. But he does not give 
up all hope. She really ought to have come to 
years of discretion by now. She would never 
repent having him. And if anybody can do any- 
thing with her, it’s you.” 

After Werner had read the letter he stood, 
without moving for several minutes, gazing on 
the Arno, on which the full force of the sun was 
falling. His very brain seemed to reel with 
painful, anxious forebodings. Would it not, 
after all, be better, far, far better, to take his 
courage in both hands and return straightway 
to his home? 


CHAPTER XXXIV. 

The Villa Brancaleone lay in the direction of 
the Villa Mattei. 

It was one of those vast gardens, with the di- 
mensions almost of a park, which are among the 
glories of Rome, and of which no other city pos- 
sesses so great a number. 

In the center of the garden was situate the so- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


73 


called Casino, a small palace, of which Lena had 
taken a lease, and where she had now domesti- 
cated herself. 

It was a very charming dwelling, but much 
too large for a single person. The rooms seemed 
as if they were built for the very purpose of 
making her feel her loneliness to th>e utmost. 

Lena had not yet been there long enough to 
furnish all the rooms for comfortable use ; some 
of the salons, indeed, were so large that it was 
almost out of the question to fill them adequately. 
However, she had selected one special apartment 
and fitted it up to suit her with great care and 
taste. And this apartment she now regarded 
as her headquarters. 

This was a large room on the ground floor. 
The approach to it was, in the first place, three 
or four marble steps, which led to a loggia that 
ran along the whole front of the Casino. This 
loggia was supported by pillars and adorned 
with statues. And the room specially adopted 
as her own by Lena opened upon it. 

Her piano was there, and her writing-table. 
All her favorite photographs were there ; some 
in frames on the walls, others thrown about the 
room in picturesque confusion. And all the 
curious and interesting things which she had 
purchased, from time to time, in her wanderings 
about the city were stored here. There were 
plenty of picturesque and pretty things, certainly, 
in that room, but they failed altogether to con- 
stitute a harmonious whole, being arranged on 
no method or principle. The place gave you the 


74 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


impression that its tenant had no clear idea as to 
what she wanted to make out of it, and was ani- 
mated by no governing purpose. The fact was 
that Lena sometimes gave herself a world of 
trouble about the location of some quite insig- 
nificant object. The next day to this she might, 
just as probably as not, be utterly insensible, for 
the time being, to the value of some incompara- 
ble work, and fling it aside in some corner or 
other. And, if anything happened to be in her 
way, when she was traversing the apartment 
rapidly, she was very apt to push it aside quite 
unceremoniously, whatever its value might be. 
Else’s modest boudoir, with all the ugliness of 
its somewhat vulgar damask furniture, was a 
better place to live in than all this confused heap 
of valuable and beautiful things which Lena had 
collected about her. Even the parlor occupied 
by Lena at the hotel in Berlin was more like a 
place fitted for human habitation. The truth is 
that the disturbed condition of the young wom- 
an’s mind betwayed itself in much of what she 
did, and in everything about her. 

Lena had settled in Rome simply because she 
was tired out. She had leased the Casino be- 
cause it was unoccupied and unfurnished, and 
sufficiently far from the noise of, the great city. 
Her frame of mind was painfully uncertain. One 
day she felt the society of her kind quite intol- 
erable, and shut herself up altogether. The next 
she was ready to plunge herself into any sort of 
company to be relieved of the burden of herself. 
Sometimes she would show herself at a couple 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


75 


of balls and three parties in one evening. At 
other times she was to be seen nowhere, and was 
at home to nobody. 

This day, when we see her once more, was 
one of those on which she refused admittance to 
all the world. She was seated at the piano in 
this garden parlor, her own special room, and 
was playing a sweet, soft, sad melody, a Peru- 
vian cradle- song which she had lately heard sung 
by a young American lady. 

The sirocco was gathering up out of doors. 
Sulzer, her groom of the chambers, who had 
been in the service of the deceased Count Retz, 
came in with a card on a silver salver. 

She made a pettish movement, and signed to 
him to stop. “I don’t receive anybody to-day,” 
she exclaimed; “I’ve told you so already!” 

“It is Baron Schlitzing, from Berlin,” said 
Sulzer, doubtfully. Baron Schlitzing was a par- 
ticular favorite of Sulzer, as indeed he was of all 
his inferiors. “It occurred to me, madame, that 
as he had come such a long way — ” 

Lena began to laugh. She did not practice 
absolute self-restraint before this very old re- 
tainer. 4 4 Oh ! well, as he has come such a very 
long way, you can bring him in, and bring the 
tea too, as soon as you possibly can.” 

One minute later Werner stood before her. 

“What a surprise ! How are you? Isn’t Else 
with you?” cried Lena, warmly. 

4 4 No; unfortunately Else could not getaway. 
It was after I had started that she wrote to me 


76 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


that you were in Rome, Lena. She has charged 
me with all sorts of kind messages to you,” he 
said hastily, and in a strangely subdued voice. 
His words came tumbling over one another, 
something like the horses of a four-in-hand very 
badly driven. 

“Oh, what a pity that Else isn’t here too! 
Perhaps she may make up her mind to come 
and join you. And how in the world came you 
to undertake such a journey, a quiet, stay-at- 
home creature like you?” cried Lena. 

4 4 W ell, I had a chill which left me in a wretched 
state; couldn’t get over it,” he replied. 4 4 My 
physician insisted on change of air.” 

“You don’t look quite yourself, that’s a fact,” 
she said, sympathetically. 4 4 Well, we must be 
careful and spare ourselves, and not take too 
much out of ourselves in this marvelously beauti- 
ful Rome ! And now sit down and try to feel a 
little at home here in my house. Though, I am 
sorry to say, I can’t manage to do so myself. 
But you bring a little Berlin air with you, so 
perhaps I shall now get along a little better. Be- 
sides, you ought to feel as if you were in your 
own nook and corner here. It’s by no means 
strange territory! Just look about you.” She 
• pointed to her writing-1 able. 4 4 Here’s the whole 
Schlitzing family in a bunch!” 

And he did, in fact, see on the young woman’s 
writing-table no fewer than three charming pic- 
tures of Else, at different ages, and portraits of 
all the children. 

“The whole family, indeed, with the slight 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


77 


exception of its head,” said he. There was not 
too much tact in the jest. 

. “I haven’t any portrait of you at all,” she 
replied. “The older portraits are not like you 
now, and I don’t like those that have been taken 
lately. But here comes the tea!” 

She poured him out some in the kindest way, 
and he noticed that she had not forgotten all his 
little preferences as to milk, sugar and other 
such important things. 

She was even more gentle and attractive than 
she had been in Berlin. And about her mouth 
there was a touch of softness and languor which 
was new to him, and gave him some uneasiness. 

“Is she in love with somebody?” he asked 
himself. The thought was insupportable to him. 
He felt that he must try to elicit something from 
her that would throw light on the matter. 

“I have a commission from Else as to some- 
thing that concerns you,” he began. 

“Yes?” she answered quickly, looking up from 
the teacup which she had just raised to her lips. 

“She has charged me to speak seriously to you 
about Linden,” he said. “Else entreats you to 
deal with all that matter like a rational creature. 
Linden does not seem to be able to take your re- 
fusal seriously.” 

Lena was silent for a moment. Then she 
shrugged her shoulders and began to speak very 
sadly, though the sadness had a streak of drollery 
in it, too. “Linden’s persistence is really quite 
affecting. I rather fancy that that sort of thing 
goes by the name of ‘fidelity’ in Germany. As 


78 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


far as I am concerned, Else can’t wish me to be- 
have ‘like a rational creature’ more than I do 
myself. Why, there’s not a day passes that I 
don’t entreat myself to be sober and rational. 
But the truth is, that, up to the present moment, 
1 really have come to no conclusion at all. If I 
were to marry Linden to-day, I should strongly 
advise him to take a strait- waistcoat with him 
on the wedcling journey. One of the two would 
certainly go raving mad in a few days. Heavens 
and earth ! There are such lots of girls every- 
where. Most of them can get used to any man 
who does not inspire them with absolute repug- 
nance. The man wants to take care of them and 
provide for them, and that’s enough to start some 
kindly interest for him in their bosoms. Then, 
once engaged, and a few duty kisses passing be- 
tween the parties, and there they are, those girls, 
over head and ears in love ! Happy creatures ! 
I know that if Linden wanted to worry me with 
any of his kisses, I should just simply throw the 
plates or the chairs — the first thing that came to 
hand — at his head ! U nder those* circumstances, 
do you still advise me to marry him?” 

Werner’s only answer was a few moments’ 
silence. Then he looked her full in the eyes. 
“And could you have made up vour mind to 
marry Enzendorff, think you?” he asked. 

“Certainly a good deal more easily than Lin- 
den!” she replied, quickly. 

“Because that alliance would have been more 
satisfying to your ambition?” replied Werner, 
dryly. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


79 


“Well, what of it? Ambition takes you out 
of yourself, anyhow! However, I think, to be 
quite sincere, that the reason why the idea of a 
marriage with Enzendorff is an easier thing for 
me than the other is, that there’s not the slight- 
est particle of danger of my being forced to 
make up my mind about that.” 

‘ ‘ Oh, I don’t know, ’ ’ replied W erner. 4 ‘ Enzen- 
dorff never alludes to you without taking off his 
hat, so to speak. When a man pardons such a 
rebuff as you have felt called on to give him, 
one may conclude all sorts of things from it. He 
has behaved in a much more dignified, self-re- 
specting way in the matter than I should have 
expected from him.” Werner’s sense of justice 
forced him to say all this ; he felt it his duty not 
to withhold from Lena these facts concerning 
Enzendorff. But the next moment he was ex- 
ceedingly vexed with himself for doing it. What 
was the use of putting that coxcomb in such a 
favorable light before her? And it did not lessen 
his vexation when the young woman replied : 

“1 am very glad to hear that of Enzendorff! 
He was a man on whom I never could help set- 
ting some store.” 

“You don’t class him with those stupid, taste- 
less bits of ornament which you can buy every- 
where for a few francs, then?” asked Werner, 
who felt a tightening at his chest. 

“No, indeed, I do not!” replied Lena. “The 
man has a great deal in him. He is a character. 
It is difficult for women to get along well with 
him, because he has a fixed idea that they are 


80 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


all more or less good for nothing, and it’s not so 
easy to put up with that. It’s a great pity; for 
there are not many men with whom one can 
have such good talk as with him. It is true 
enough that his leading purpose is always per- 
sonal gratification ; but his theories place life on 
high ground for all that. And I am convinced 
that when he is absolutely forced to think well 
of a woman, that is a source of satisfaction to 
him, after all. Cynic he may be, but he is quite 
certainly a gentleman.” 

“In a word, he is a person humiliating as a 
lover, but with the materials of an excellent hus- 
band in his composition,” observed Werner im- 
patiently. “I think what you say amounts to 
something like that, Lena, doesn’t it?” 

Instead of replying directly to this, she ob- 
served, with a little of her former odd brus- 
querie : “If you don’t want a fourth cup of tea 
— you’ve had three already — you might have a 
little walk with me through the villa. Come!” 

She put on her large straw hat and went out. 
He followed. 

The Casino was on very high ground. The 
garden was on a slope that led gradually down 
toward the Campagna. 

There was one part of it in which the vegeta- 
tion had been left to itself. It was a forest of 
pine-trees, whose gray, nearly black summits 
were waving gently in the breeze over their cop- 
per-colored stems and branches. 

And, running through it, was an avenue of 
evergreen oaks, and another of cypresses ; and, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


81 


at the feet of the cypresses, were severe-looking 
busts of Hermes and stone benches. To the right 
and left in this wood were extensive lawns, of 
which only one or two were kept smooth after 
the English fashion, most of them being quite 
luxuriously overgrown with flowers and spring 
grass rising as high as a person’s knees. And 
out of the grass rose high, here and there, mag- 
nolia shrubs or white azaleas. Creeping rose- 
trees and glycinas were there in great quantity, 
twining themselves in wild confusion up to the 
branches of the severe oaks and pines, or else 
lying at the feet of the black cypresses, as if tired 
and borne down by the weight of their masses 
of flowers. 

And so, Lena accompanying him, he wandered 
through this little earthly paradise. She walked 
a little in front of him all the time, and he fol- 
lowed her almost mechanically. He could not 
sufficiently admire the charming outline of her 
form, and keen was his delight in her pale face 
when she turned it to him over her shoulder now 
and again with the exclamation : ‘ c How lovely it 
all is !” He could answer her only with his eyes. 

‘ ‘And now I must show you my favorite spot 
of all!” she said. 

This favorite place was not very far from the 
Casino, and it was one of the highest points of 
the garden. 

A stone bench, gray-black, damp, eaten into 
ahnost by a thick covering of moss, half sur- 
rounding a fountain, where wanton naiads and 
tritons were sending up silvery showers of spray 


82 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


into the air, which fell back, splashing and rust- 
ling, upon them ; flowing down then along a few 
steps into a basin from which the waters over- 
flowed for a further descent, and going it could 
not be seen whither. 

The stone bench was Overhung by plane-trees 
with silvery stems, round which clung, in all 
their profuse southern growth, a luxurious con- 
fusion of Marechal Mel and dark-red jacquemi- 
not roses. The background to it all consisted of 
a little forest of orange-trees. The orange-trees 
were not yet in bloom. 

The perfume of the roses mingled with the 
keen odor of the beech-trees, and you detected 
also that faint, mouldering smell which is pecul- 
iar to the gardens of Rome. 

“Yes, this is my favorite place !” exclaimed 
Lena, seating herself. “ ‘Know’st thou where I 
love to tarry when the heat of day is o’er — ’ ” 

Again he asked himself whether she could 
possibly be in love, and how to manage to get 
light upon the point; then he quoted, almost in- 
audibly : 

“ "Better the heart in thee break, 

# Die of the rose’s perfume, 

Than never to Passion awake, 

Fade by the loveless doom !’ ” 

She looked 'up laughinglyat him. “Was that 
an allusion to somebody?” she asked. 

‘ 4 Perhaps, ’ ’ he replied. ‘ ‘ I can not help think- 
ing it a pity that — well, that your life has never 
yet known that which most beautifies and de- 
lights existence. I ask myself frequently whether 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


83 


the power of loving, in the greatest sense, is not 
wholly wanting in you?” 

She was silent for a brief instant, and then 
murmured, in low tones g “It is a question that 
I find it difficult to answer for myself. Some- 
times I think that the naivete and simplicity of 
feeling, necessary to such surrender of myself, 
are foreign to my being, or have been made im- 
possible by my circumstances. Life has been, 
with me, a matter of far too multiplied instruc- 
tion and experience for such things, I fear. My 
eyes have been forced too wide open for any- 
thing which requires a certain glamour of illu- 
sion. I — oh, how shall I express it? I am 
always hearing Mephistopheles laughing on 
the other side of the hedge when Faust gives 
Margaret a kiss.” 

“For shame, Lena! How can you say such a 
hateful thing? as that?” said Werner, angrily. 

i c Oh ! I can very well understand your exas- 
peration,” she replied, quietly; “indeed, I al- 
most share it. But what can you expect? It 
is really as I say. Just think what a life of it I 
have had, from first to last ! That earliest child- 
hood, which I remember perfectly well, though 
I can never bring myself to speak of it.” She 
stopped short, and covered her eyes with her 
hand. Then she went on: “And that terrible 
time afterward, that frightful time between girl- 
hood and womanhood. My grandmother used 
to lie in wait like a lynx, to pounce upon every 
movement in me that had any natural tender- 
ness in it, in order to put the most horrible and 


84 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


degrading construction upon it. That was not 
a system, certainly, likely to make much im- 
pression with me, and she quite failed of her 
mark. All she effected was to rouse the most 
violent antagonism in me. In fact, her constant 
and violent attacks, in one direction, had the 
effect of rousing impulses and tendencies which 
perhaps would not have declared themselves till 
much later. Things that I might have been 
indifferent to excited my deepest interest. The 
fire of romantic ideas blazed up all the higher in 
me because of the tortures to which my youth 
was constantly subjected, and — well, you know 
the sequel. My grandmother died. Countess 
Lenzdorff sent me to Paris, to some friends of 
hers, to perfect my pianoforte playing. I had 
scarcely a penny to bless myself with. There 
was a tiny fraction of my grandmother’s prop- 
erty left for me ; all the rest she had given away 
in one charity or other during her lifetime, to 
the poor, as she used to say. Then I came to 
know Count Retz. What course was open to 
me except to comply with the arrangements he 
so desired to make for my benefit? He took my 
further education into his own hands, and it is 
a strange thing, surely, to reflect upon, how 
utterly opposite were the influences to which I 
was now subjected. Two beings more diverse 
than my grandmother and the Cardinal cannot 
be imagined. She was a creature shut up in the 
narrowest mental limits ; he was full of intellect. 
She was an ascetic, who knew nothing of life; 
he was an epicurean, satiated with its enjoy- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


85 


ments and experiences. But both of them were 
exactly of the same mind as to one point, and 
that is profound contempt for, and disbelief in, 
the feeling which is generally looked upon as 
constituting the flowering point of creation. My 
grandmother’s hatred for, anger with, every- 
thing like romantic feeling, as I just now con- 
fessed to you, roused in me romantic cravings 
which were partly real, and partly sprang from 
mere opposition. But the Cardinal’s sarcasms 
at the caprices and absurdities attending pas- 
sion, which were made up of a strange mixture 
of tolerance and enjoyment of them, produced a 
deeper impression on me, and have put my mind 
into a permanent attitude of antagonism to ro- 
mance, I fear. And yet — yet, in spite of all that 
the two old people said, under some circum- 
stances — ” She was suddenly silent. 

“Well, under some circumstances?” he said, 
in a low voice. 

“I cannot help thinking that it must be only 
too beautiful and lovely,” she stammered, in 
very low tones ; the words seemed to come from 
the depths of her chest. 

“Do you say that?” asked Werner, bending 
forward a little. “You!” 

She looked him full in the face ; then, speak- 
ing with difficulty, as if just waking from some 
dream: “Shall I tell you something?” she mur- 
mured. 

“Yes, Lena.” 

“Well, then, for one single fortnight of happi- 
ness, such happiness as would entirely fill and 


86 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


satisfy my soul, I would gladly give the rest of 
existence!” 

Her words produced an extraordinary and 
quite indefinable impression on him. He knew 
not what reply to make to this utterance of hers. 
The conversation had been one of the ordinary 
level kind. And here was a sudden and incon- 
gruous outburst of passionate feeling quite alter- 
ing its complexion. 

“Do you really mean it?” he stammered. “I 
don’t think you can be quite aware what you 
are saying!” 

“I know what I’m saying perfectly well,” she 
insisted. “I repeat it. For one fortnight’s hap- 
piness I’d give all the rest of life! But I mean 
a happiness that would be altogether satisfying 
to my heart. I mean a happiness the ingredients 
whereof would have to be everything that’s best 
and noblest on earth!” 

“And for a brief time of such happiness you 
would willingly laydown your life?” he said, 
half- jestingly, though his breath came short as 
he said it. 

“My life? Certainly!” she murmured. “But 
it would need to be absolutely free from the very 
slightest trace of wrong to any human being. 
Unless it were, it woidd be no happiness for 
me,” she finished, abruptly. 

“With all possible respect for your conclusions, 
or wishes, Lena,” said Werner, taking off his 
hat, “I am constrained to think that the end of 
it all will be that in a year or two you’ll marry 
Linden, or finish up in some such everyday, r eg- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


87 


ular fashion. I am afraid that the intense and 
absolute happiness which you have in your head 
is not exactly compatible with that sort of phil- 
anthropic consideration for one’s neighbors you 
insist upon. It’s just as impossible to be ex- 
cessively happy without making somebody or 
other feel sore, as it is to be excessively wealthy 
without somebody or other being the poorer for 
it. The fact is that genuine passion has just as 
little to do with scrupulosity as genuine genius. 
Both of them go straight to their mark, and 
don’t care a brass farthing whether they tread 
upon other people’s corns or not. The simple 
truth is that between passion and you there is an 
absolute, natural incompatibility of temper. ’ ’ 

If Werner said this, not from conviction, but 
to rouse the spirit of contradiction in her, and, 
so, elicit from her more avowals of her feeling 
and thought, he failed in his object. It had not 
taken Lena long to recover complete mastery of 
herself. 

She shrugged her shoulders. “Let it stand at 
that,” she said. “It was not much more than 
a careless observation of mine, a slight foray 
into the unknown. Perhaps the spring season 
is responsible for it.” 

The hot wind, the sirocco, had been gathering 
force. The stroke of six was heard from some 
distant clock. The vibration seemed to make 
more palpable the stifling oppressiveness of the 
atmosphere. 

Werner suddenly began visibly to shiver a 
little. 


88 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“For God’s sake! Back into the house, and 
as quickly as possible!” cried Lena, in startled 
tones. She ran with the speed of a doe to the 
Casino, and he had to put out all his strength to 
keep up with her. She did not slacken her pace 
till they were well within its walls. 

Instead of going again into her boudoir, 
where she had received him, she led the way to 
a circular room with white marble walls, where 
several statues were standing among oleander- 
trees with their white and red flowers. “My 
pet room,” said she, still struggling for breath, 
“is a doubtful sort of place. As soon as the 
shadows begin to lengthen it is not exactly 
wholesome. And, by all account, in the latter 
part of the year it’s a positive pest-hole. And 
that place with the orange-trees we’ve just run 
away from is the most dangerous of all. As for 
me, all that is a matter of the most supreme in- 
difference. I should be glad to be relieved once 
for all of the bother of coming to some conclu- 
sion about Linden, ’ ’ she laughed, with a sort of 
joyless defiance; “but it’s you I am anxious 
about ! What would become of Else if anything 
happened to you? Did that sharp little run warm 
you up?” 

“Quite,” he assured her. 

“Well, we’ll leave nothing to chance, any- 
how,” said she. “Wait a moment.” 

She dashed into the next room, which, as 
Werner found out later, was the dining-room, 
and returned with a caraffe of cut-glass, full of 
some yellow liquor, and two small silver cups. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


89 


“Come! yon must swallow a few drops of 
Eucalyptus extract!” she said, imperiously, and 
filled one of the silver cups for him. “Now, 
gulp it down, quick. A little more — there!” 

‘ ‘ But you’re not taking any, Lena ; why not ? ’ ’ 

“Oh, I? It didn’t occur to me! My life 
doesn’t matter much. But if you insist — ” She 
drank a cupful. “And now get home with you, 
as fast as you can. Where is it? Hotel Europe? 
All right. Now make them give you something 
warm directly you get in ; and be sure and drink 
half a litre of good red wine at dinner. But for 
this little chill I meant to have asked you to stay 
and dine with me. Oh ! don’t look so astounded. 
My arrangements are so perfect that I can ask 
anybody to stay and dine. I don’t care who he 
might be, if he were an Adonis and a Don Juan 
rolled in one, let alone a tiresome old German 
domestic man like you. I have a companion, a 
duenna, sir, an Englishwoman, who is decorum 
incorporate. Since that little unpleasantness 
with Enzendorff I keep an immense supply of 
decorum on hand, I assure you. You can dine 
with me perfectly well to-morrow, if it suits 
you. You must be off directly. Dear me! I 
was forgetting ! I’ve an engagement to dine to- 
day at the Russian Embassador’s, and really I 
haven’t much more time than I need for dress- 
ing. Apropos ! do you happen to have brought 
your riding-suits with you?” 

“Yes; Else insisted upon my taking them 
along,” he replied. “Else is one of those old- 
fashioned souls who think that almost any- 


90 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


thing may turn up on a journey, you never can 
tell.” 

“Else is a treasure! If you think it will do 
you any good, be here to-morrow morning about 
eight, before it’s hot, and pick me up. We’ll 
have a gallop through the Campagna. I can 
mount you, but you must hire a horse and bring 
it along for the groom. Can you find your way 
out? There is Sulzer, he’ll show you the way. 
To-morrow, at eight o’clock, then!” 


CHAPTER XXXY. 

Werner felt for the rest of that day, after 
leaving Lena, as though he were floating on 
clouds. And so, keen was his expectation of 
enjoyment for the morning to follow that he 
was impatient with the hours that still stood 
between him and his next meeting with Lena. 
But with her it was quite different. Her inter- 
view with Werner had left a disagreeable flavor 
behind it. She was far from being satisfied with 
herself. 

She was not a little displeased with herself for 
saying things that it would have been much bet- 
ter never to put into words. Such movements of 
feeling as she had confessed to never should be 
brought to the knowledge of any living soul. 
Besides, there had been so much exaggeration 
in what she had said ! She had not truly rep- 
resented herself in alleging that wild craving 
for some unimaginable happiness. Or, if there 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 91 

was any truth in it, that feeling was so utterly 
evanescent that it didl not, positively did not, 
stand in any vital relation to her best and per- 
manent self. Her mind was certainly liable to 
fall, for a few brief instants, into a sort of con- 
fused chaos, but how soon it recovered its balance. 
Yet, was this so, after all? Lena could not 
help asking herself this question not a little 
sharply. During her stay in Berlin had she 
been able, with all her best and painful en- 
deavor, to settle, finally, which was the real 
Lena? The Lena that yearned so terribly for 
the excitements and enjoyments of exalted feel- 
ing, and was ready to lay down her life for ever 
so short a period of the satisfaction of her 
heart’s ideals? Or the Lena that could see 
nothing but the ridiculous and the dangerous 
side of passion? Which of the two was the 
real Lena? Which of the two would carry 
away the palm of victory? What would she 
not give if she could only know? 

Next morning it proved that the sober, self- 
restrained, self-guarded Lena was in the ascend- 
ant. And the consequence was that Werner 
derived far less enjoyment from his ride in the 
Campagna than he had promised himself. 

She did not vouchsafe him a single word that 
went an inch beyond the coolest feeling. And 
when he showed a disposition to indulge in some 
of his enthusiasms, she took the words out of 
his mouth and reduced him to silence in the most 
decisive manner. She was like a changed creat- 


92 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS, 


ure altogether, and expressed her regret that she 
could not see him at dinner that day, alleging 
some insignificant pretext or other. 

In fact, she intimated to him that for the rest 
of the day, after their ride, she would be spe- 
cially occupied. And he spent it in warding off 
the attacks of persons offering themselves as 
guides about Rome, and in seeing as much as 
he could manage to do for himself. He had to 
content himself with an invitation she gave him 
for a later day to a polyglot breakfast — a jum- 
ble of nationalities — at which she made him sit 
between a couple of strangers, English women, 
while she delivered herself over to the enthusi- 
astic attentions of some literary Frenchman, 
who was just then one of the lions of Rome. 

Perhaps because of the nationality of this per- 
sonage Werner yielded so far to the ill-humor 
that all this caused him as to take French leave 
of his hostess. Anyhow, he departed from that 
breakfast without saying a single farewell word 
to her. 

Then two days elapsed. He expected a note 
from her to remind him of a plan she had made, 
for his paying a visit to the Villa Borghese in 
her company on the following Saturday. The 
Saturday came, but it brought no sign of Lena’s 
existence. He drove all by himself to the Villa 
Borghese with a vague hope of meeting her 
there; he went in and had a look at the Casino 
there, and those art-treasures so celebrated all 
over the world. The Dancing Faun stretching 
out its arms in all the unrestraint of intoxica- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


93 


tion. The wonderful expression of severity and 
fatigue on the famous sleeping figure with the 
large mass of poppy flowers in its hand ! The 
Daphne, with the laurel branch growing out of 
her breast, writhing in the convulsions of de- 
spair ! Then, there was Canova’s Pauline Bor- 
ghese, that most famous example of epicurean 
elegance and fascination in woman. The work 
was surrounded, as usual, by a bevy of German 
governesses enjoying the shock to their modesty 
embodied in that apotheosis of the style that 
may not unfairly be called “The Smoking-room 
Decorative.” All these things passed before 
Werner’s eyes. But his mind was elsewhere. 
Lena was not there. He went out of the Casino, 
hoping to find her in the grounds. 

There, shaded by the laurel trees with their 
yellow flowers, in the center of a much- trodden 
lawn in front of the Casino, he discovered — not 
Lena, but her English companion, Miss Sinclair, 
seated before an easel and busily painting the 
only fountain that was in that immediate vi- 
cinity, the waters of which shot up and fell in 
happy indifference to the artist’s proceedings. 

This conduct of the fountain, the ascent of its 
waters followed so invariably by their helpless 
descent again, seemed, to his not well-disci- 
plined fancy at the moment, to bear a certain 
analogy with the trend of that conversation of 
his with Lena under the plane trees. 

It was with Lena’s exalted feelings and utter- 
ances as with that unstable water. Shoot as 
they might, for a moment, up to the very skies, 


94 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


they were sure to tumble back again in a very 
little while into the receptacle below, the gen- 
eral receptacle of all the rational conformities 
of principle and conveniences of every day ex- 
istence. 

She was incapable of passion! Nothing could 
be more certain than that! She was of a radi- 
cally cold and guarded nature. Only, she had 
a large provision of the imaginative faculty, 
which enabled her feelings to take balloon-like 
flights into the upper air. But in these flights 
her head alone was concerned. Her heart had 
nothing to do with them at all — nothing what- 
ever ! 

But dissatisfied as he was with her at that 
moment, he was as far as possible from being 
able to put her away from his thoughts. He 
went politely up to Miss Sinclair, examined her 
water-color with flattering attention, and, in an 
incidental sort of way, inquired after the coun- 
tess. 

He learned that Lena had been breakfasting 
with the Marchesa Saldini; “a regular swell 
breakfast,” Miss Sinclair declared it was, given 
in honor of some princely personage who was 
traveling incognito. “And she did look so 
handsome, in her white dress and that hat of 
hers, ornamented with fresh orchids, fastened 
with diamond pins. I am dreadfully afraid 
that hat will get into the newspapers,” said 
Miss Sinclair, with a little sigh. 

Werner bit his lips. His ill-humor was far 
from being diminished by what he heard. He 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


95 


took his leave of Miss Sinclair immediately, left 
the Villa Borghese, and directed his driver to 
take him, by way of the Piazza del Popolo, down 
the Via Flamminiona to the Ponte Molle. When 
he had reached the Ponte Molle he made the car- 
riage stop at a small hostelry at the foot of the 
famous Villa Madama. He went up the ascent to 
the villa and had a look at the remarkable faded 
frescoes of the oldest portion of the buildings, de- 
riving much mor6 impression from them than 
he had from the statues at the Casino of the Villa 
Borghese. And then he went down to the place 
where he had left his carriage. And there he 
found a small group of tourists, belonging to 
the higher social ranks, with a considerable 
crowd of the lower strata of the natives about 
them. These travelers were attentively examin- 
ing the exterior of the little tavern, and its sur- 
roundings, with the praiseworthy purpose of 
familiarizing themselves a little with the local 
color. The “local color,” in this instance, had 
its culminating point in a couple of not too well 
washed Capuchin friars, who were seated at a 
table and swallowing gome red vin du pays , in 
the intervals of their hiccoughs. The effect 
produced by the friars was enhanced by a 
songstress with a picturesque veil — so big as 
to amount almost to a second robe — who was 
singing some romances of Tosti, accompanied 
on a pianino by a youth with plaid trousers of 
a very large pattern, and a head of hair of im- 
moderate growth. The youth looked thriving 
enough, hair and all; but the unfortunate pianino 


96 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


looked as if its adventurous and migratory open- 
air existence did not suit its constitution at all. 
In fact, judging from its cracked voice, its bron- 
chial tubes had gone to utter wreck and ruin. 

The songstress crowed out her “vorrei morir,’ 
and made great eyes at her audience as she did 
so. She looked as if she might have been a 
handsome woman somewhat earlier, and, though 
her voice had long gone, her phrasing and sing- 
ing were still fairly good. 

Her singing, mediocre as it was, really had 
the power of exciting the nerves of those who 
heard it, by its very excess of sentimental ex- 
pression. It seemed to give Werner some sort 
of pleasure. Or, if it was pain it caused him, 
the pain was almost agreeable as a counter- 
irritant to his present humor. He threw her a 
coin, and then seated himself at one of the stiff- 
legged rectangular tables and ordered a bottle of 
Chianti. 

He was extremely thirsty, and finished the 
bottle in less than five minutes. And, whether 
because of the extremely oppressive state of the 
atmosphere, or merely because he had drunk 
very little wine of late, the Chianti went very 
decidedly to his head. 

His depression gave way to an excitement 
which soon led him to long for some sort of ad- 
venture to vary the monotony of things. And 
the only adventure that immediately occurred to 
him was to order another bottle of Chianti. At 
the same time he began to be aware in a careless 
sort of way that the glances of a very pretty 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


97 


woman with red hair, who was seated with an 
older friend at the table between him and the 
monks, were being expended somewhat lavishly 
for his benefit. Her demeanor showed plainly 
enough that he had taken her fancy. He was 
about to move his chair to her side when a voice 
that seemed familiar to him uttered the name 
of the “Countess Retz” in his immediate vi- 
cinity. 

Werner turned round instantaneously. And 
he saw the Prince Orbanoff behind him, accom- 
panied by two gentlemen, whom he recognized 
as members of the German Embassy. 

He saluted them, but without moving from 
his place, and his impulse to gossip or flirt with 
the handsome Roman ceased immediately. And, 
as might be expected, he listened with all his 
ears to the conversation of the three gentlemen 
at this table behind him, to discover what theme 
it was they were handling that brought in Lena’s 
name. 

One of the German diplomats said: “Inter- 
esting, but uncanny.” 

The second gave his opinion : “She looks un- 
commonly handsome just now; nobody can deny 
that; and she is making the most of it. I should 
like to know what game she is at now. I take 
it that ambition is the uppermost thing in her. 
It would not surprise me to read at any moment 
in the newspapers that she was engaged to some 
Russian grandduke or other.” 

“Women like that defy all calculation,” said 
the first speaker. “I should feel just as little 


98 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


surprise to hear that she had suddenly vanished 
from the scene of action in the company of some 
teacher of languages, just as her mother did.” 

“ She’ll take devilish good care to do nothing 
of the sort,” struck in Orbanoff; “she’s not that 
sort of woman. You don’t marry a wornout 
old man with half a million of income, as she 
did, for nothing, let me tell you!” 

“If all is true that one hears, the only motive 
old Retz had for marrying her was that he might 
provide for her as if they were father and daugh- 
ter, and her relation to him was filial only,” said 
one of the Germans. 

“A likely story that,” sneered Orbanoff, “for 
anybody who knew Retz. Quite too utterly 
laughable altogether. The next thing you’ll 
want me to believe is that that fellow Enzen- 
dorff followed the pretty countess all the way 
from Paris to Berlin out of pure fraternal re- 
gard.” He laughed loud, in a coarse way, at 
his jest. 

“Enzendorff? Is there anything on with 
Enzendorff?” asked one of the gentlemen. 

“Oh, that’s an old liaison; began in her hus- 
band’s lifetime,” said Orbanoff, in a very posi- 
tive way. “You’ll see he’ll turn up here before 
long.” 

Werner rose; he went up to the gentlemen 
and raised his hat. “Excuse me for interrupt- 
ing you,” he began, “but Prince Orbanoff has 
been speaking rather too loudly, and he has per- 
mitted himself to express himself in a way quite 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


99 


offensive to my ears. I must very decidedly re- 
quire him to withdraw what he has just said.” 

“What do you want me to withdraw?” said 
Orbanoff, in great excitement. 

“Those insulting and calumnious observations 
which you have dared to make about Countess 
Retz,” said Werner, in tones hoarse with sup- 
pressed passion. “Will you have the goodness 
to take back every one of those words on the 
spot?” 

“Not if I know it,” roared the prince. 

“In that case I have to insist upon your giving 
me your address,” said Werner. “This does not 
seem to me to be the proper place for the further 
discussion of such a matter.” 

The prince handed him his card. It was a 
matter of “principle” with him never to behave 
as though he did not care to fight. 


CHAPTER XXXVI. 

Our hero — if he be such — is next to be seen 
at the Hotel de 1’ Europe, where he is lying on a 
couch, in a low-pitched room on the mezzanin 
floor, which looks out on the Piazza. 

The duel, considering all things, had ended 
tolerably well for Werner Schlitzing; much bet- 
ter than might have been expected of an en- 
counter with such a practiced hand as Orbanoff. 
Werner had got off with a slight wound in the 
shoulder, which was very painful but not at all 
dangerous. 


100 


•CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


But, when all is said and done, it is not quite 
the most delightful thing in the world to have 
to keep your bed in a hotel at a foreign city, 
with orders to be as quiet and lie as perfectly 
still as you possibly can, your right arm band- 
aged tightly to your breast; and all these nice 
things in a temperature of twenty-four degrees 
Reaumur, in the shade. 

Werner’s romance had quite left him for the 
moment; and he could not help asking himself 
whether the whole affair was not more trouble 
than it was worth. Would it not have been bet- 
ter if he had simply gone to work to persuade the 
prince, in a quiet, gentlemanly way, that he had 
formed quite a wrong opinion about Lena? And 
then, what, in Heaven’s name, had Lena and 
her affairs to do with him , anyhow? 

He did not know how he could possibly bear 
the time till he should be sufficiently patched up 
to be able to enter upon his homeward journey. 
What would he not give to have Else by his side ! 

During the first forty-eight hours he was 
nursed by a Sister of Mercy, a gentle, amiable 
creature, and very short of sight, whose face 
positively glistened with its plumpness. This 
worthy creature reduced him almost to despair : 
first by her hot woolen dress, with its sepulchral 
odor of phenic acid ; and, then, by the rattling of 
the beads of her rosary, as they fell from her 
fingers, which was all the time; for she was 
incessantly at her devotions, except when the 
duties of the sick-room absolutely required her 
attention. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


101 


This good soul he got rid of just as soon as he 
could at all do without her. And, when she was 
gone, he got along as best he could without any 
particular nursing, by the help of the electric- 
bell and the chambermaid. 

The chambermaid in question had taken him 
under her special protection. This very day she 
had, very flatteringly, placed a pitcher with 
dark-red roses on his night-table. 

His physician was a very agreeable person ; 
an Austrian, still quite young. This gentleman 
had made his visit some time in the forenoon, 
and stayed for half an hour’s conversation, in 
the course of which, in reply to Werner’s en- 
treaties to hasten matters, he had assured his 
patient that he would be quite fit to travel in 
three or four days, if he would obey directions 
and take proper care of himself. 

There was an elderly English lady in the hotel 
who, on hearing of Werner’s forlorn state, so 
far took compassion on him as to send him a 
whole heap of books, all of them strictly on re- 
ligious subjects only. 

At about one o’clock the monotony of the day 
is slightly broken by the chambermaid, who 
brings him a cup of bouillon and a roll. It is 
quite troublesome to eat with his left hand only, 
especially as he is obliged to lie absolutely still. 
So the chambermaid proposes to come to his res- 
cue, and feed him ! 

In a very little while he was alone again. The 
sultry heat of the afternoon weighed heavily on 
all Rome. The roll of the carriages out of doors 


102 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


sounded much less loudly than usual. The Eter- 
nal City was comparatively empty by this time. 
The pealing of bells was heard rather more fre- 
quently than usual ; and the footsteps of people, 
too, marching in close order, as if in some funer- 
al procession. And with that sound there came 
simultaneously the odor of incense and of wax 
candles through the open window into his room. 
Fever was epidemic, in fact, in Rome just then, 
and that bad form of it known as the perniciosa. 

This state of things had been made known to 
W erner by the young Austrian doctor, who had 
advised him to do nothing to trifle with his re- 
covery, so that he might get away from the 
place as soon as possible. 

But what did Werner care about the fever? 
There was only one thing that worried him. “If 
she does not know”— it was his sincere hope that 
she did not know — “even if she does not know 
of the particular piece of stupidity which has 
obliged me to keep my bed, she cannot possibly 
have remained uninformed of the fact that I am 
ill” — so he told himself — “and she has never 
sent to inquire how I am getting on; not once!” 

This thought pressed upon him with such force 
that, weakened as he was, he could hardly keep 
back the tears. Worn out with the heat and the 
fatigue of three days’ confinement to his bed, he 
sank into sleep. But he started up in a little 
while. Surely he had heard the rustle of female 
garments close to his door? And now a slight 
knock ! He held in his breath ; the door was 
opened. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


303 


Before he could recover his self-possession, a 
veiled female form was standing at his bedside. 
The veil was thrown back. It was Ilka Orbanoff ! 

“May I stay? may I stay for just a little 
while?” she cried.* 

“I shall be very grateful indeed for a little at- 
tention of that sort. I am quite helpless, as you 
see, and the time hangs very heavy on my 
hands.” Werner spoke in tones with which, 
one might almost say, disgust mingled, in spite 
of himself. The disappointment was severe. 

“Oh, how hard you are! It’s as much as my 
life is worth to be found out in having made my 
way to you like this, and you haven’t a single 
kind word for me!” she exclaimed, in tones of 
reproach. 

‘ ‘ Oh, well ! if you really have put your life in 
danger by coming here — ” he began, in dry tones. 

“Oh! what is my life, when yours is in such 
danger as this?” she groaned. 

“I don’t believe my life is in any danger at 
all,” he replied, impatiently. “You may set 
yourself quite at rest on that score.” 

“But it has been in danger!” she went on, 
working herself up into excitement. “And to 
think that the person who has been within an 
ace of taking it is no other than my husband!” 

When she said this, Werner fixed his eyes 
closely and penetratingly on her face. 

“How do you come to be aware of that, I 
should like to know?” he said, hastily. “Surely, 
Orbanoff can never—” 

“Orbanoff has not uttered a word. The whole 


104 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


story of your heroism is in the Italia , chapter 
and verse, and here it is!” She unfolded a page 
from a French paper published in Rome, and he 
read: “Duel in high life. Yesterday, at a little 
distance from San Stefano, a’ duel took place be- 
tween the Russian Prince O — and a Prussian, 
Baron von S. The circumstances leading up to 
the encounter have been alleged to be political ; 
but that is a fiction. The real cause of the differ- 
ences between the gentlemen was something de- 
preciatory which the Prince O — took it upon 
himself to say concerning the Countess L — , one 
of the lionesses of this latter part of the Roman 
season. Baron S — took the part of the lady in a 
manner that could lead to but one result. And 
he is paying for his Quixotism and chivalry by 
having to repose on his laurels, in confinement 
to his bed, at the Hotel de V Europe, with a hole 
in his shoulder and a smart attack of fever to 
keep him company.” 

The paper fell from his hand. “When did 
that appear?” he asked, in a hoarse voice. 

“Two days ago. But how pale you have be- 
come, how wretchedly ill you look!” she cried, 
bending over him. She pulled a smelling-bottle 
out of her pocket and held it out to him. He 
put it aside with his left hand. As i^ smelling- 
salts and lavender were what the unfortunate 
needed at that moment ! 

“Two days ago!” he repeated to himself. 
“The whole city has been knowing of it for two 
days? Then she must have known of it for at 
least as long!” 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


105 


The Croatian lady went on. “You cannot 
imagine what suffering it has been causing me 
all these forty-eight hours! I was beside my- 
self, literally beside myself. I couldn’t eat, I 
couldn’t sleep, and there wasn’t a single moment 
when I could escape from them all, and rush to 
you. My husband is an Argus, a veritable Ar- 
gus ! And, just now, he happens to be in one of 
his worst tempers. Somebody or other — he is 
convinced it’s a secret agent of Count Capriani 
— has snapped up some rubbishy old prie-Dieu or 
other from under his very nose for a fabulously 
large sum. And there’s no doing anything with 
him at all, in consequence. To-day he happens to 
have gone off to Orvieto. Some valet de place has 
unearthed a chandelier of Venetian glass; and he 
has gone after it. He wanted to drag me along 
with him. But I had an attack of violent si<3k- 
headache and went to bed. He went by the 
two o’clock train. I dashed out of bed. Oh! if 
any one should discover me here ! My life, my 
position, everything is at stake! Yes, I’ve risked 
. my all for one kind look from you, and you re- 
ceive me like that? Oh, Werner! Werner! why 
are you so cold, why do you repulse me like that? 
What has changed you so? There is some fright- 
ful conspiracy at work against me! You were 
so different formerly!” 

She wrung her hands. She was really very 
much agitated, in her ignoble way. And that 
was a little more than Werner could bear up 
against in his present state. He softened a little. 
“I will try to behave better, Ilka, ” he murmured. 


106 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“Give me your hand.” He kissed her hand, 
and then said, bitterly: “Let us be good friends. 
I have often done you injustice in my thoughts, 
I see that; and it shall not occur again. You 
have something, at all events, which some women 
are lacking in, and that is a warm heart. You 
have some idea of what sacrifice means. Too 
many only know how to forget.” 

“Oh, you one man among men! You divine 
creature ! I should like to take my enthusiastic 
admiration for you in my two hands and scatter 
it abroad to the four winds of heaven, for all the 
world to know. I — ” All of a sudden the 
words died on her lips. “Didn’t you hear some- 
thing? Out of doors there! Iam lost! I for- 
got to shut the outer door that leads into your 
apartment!” 

She made as if to dash to the door of the room 
to turn the key. He stopped her. He too had 
heard a voice without, a soft, entreating voice, 
saying to somebody — no doubt one of the wait- 
ers: “Take the card in to the sick gentleman, 
please, at once !” 

It was Lena’s voice. Werner had got a firm 
hold of the Croatian lady’s wrist with his left 
hand, and held her back. And a hard, con- 
temptuous look came into his face. “Leave the 
door alone!” he cried. “And, if you are really 
in such terror of being surprised with a poor 
crippled fellow, make your escape through the 
other door there. It leads to a back stair. Fare- 
well!” 

For one moment he was dreadfully alarmed 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


107 


lest she should do nothing of the kind, but choose 
to remain. She hesitated a moment ; and was 
gone by the way he had pointed. 

As she disappeared the old footman who 
served his floor came into his room with all 
the noiseless carefulness that only those servants 
display who have been trained in the best of 
houses, and gave him a card. 

Lena’s card. Her engraved name was crossed 
out, and underneath hastily written: “Only just 
heard of your misadventure. May I see you? 
Lena.” 

A moment later she stood before him. 

She was as pale as death, and her eyes were 
red with weeping. She had on her well-worn 
garden hat, in which she made a point of never 
being seen outside of the limits of her own 
grounds, and a dress which quite clearly was 
made for house wear alone, so simple was it, and 
just as little intended for the street as the hat. 
She held out both her hands to him, and, as he 
could only answer with one, she took that one 
and held it in both of hers. “Werner!” she 
managed to exclaim. She could not say another 
word. The tears burst forth, and she sobbed. 

He looked up to her, quivering all over, as if 
beside himself and suddenly transplanted into 
another world. “Lena, I can hardly trust my 
eyes! Is this really you?” 

Under other circumstances the astonishment 
in his looks and words would have alarmed her 
pride and thrown her back into herself. But, 
for the moment, all thoughts of convention or 


108 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


propriety were driven from her mind. Every 
other feeling was swallowed up by anxiety for 
him, and the thought that he had entered the 
lists and so chivalrously risked his life for her, 
and that three days had elapsed without her 
having even so much as thanked him for it. 

“What must you think of me!” she ex- 
claimed ; then, pointing to the newspaper, which 
the princess had left on his bed: “All Rome 
must have been talking about it for two days ! 
And I knew nothing about it till just now!” 

“You must surely know well that I had noth- 
ing so much at heart as that you should never 
know anything about it, ’ ’ he cried. ‘ 4 1 consider 
that what I did was quite unpardonable in its 
precipitation and want of tact. And I think 
that I have every reason to entreat your forgive- 
ness.” 

“Precipitation! Want of tact!” she mur- 
mured, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Oh, 
what mere, mere words! It was wonderfully 
fine of you, though no doubt it was a rash deed 
and has got me talked about everywhere. Oh, 
Werner! At first I was simply horrified, just 
frightened to death, and then — then my whole 
heart was filled to the brim with joy. I could 
not restrain my tears for joy. In this sad, sad 
world, where I am so forlorn and solitary, just 
like some forgotten sentinel, there was , then, 
one human creature ready to champion me at 
the hazard of his life! At last I saw, once 
again, the knightly, chivalrous man who had 
dashed into the Rhine to rescue the poor, un- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


109 


known girl, and whom I had been trying in 
vain to find and see in you again, in these later 
days. Now I know that you and he are, and 
always will be, one and the same person !” 

He drew her hand to his lips, once and again, 
and she was too much affected to make any re- 
sistance. Then she seated herself in an easy- 
chair by his bed, and put some questions to him. 

“Now, you must tell me all about yourself. Is 
there nothing that I can do for you? Are you 
being well nursed? Would you like to have my 
man-servant to attend you? Is the food they 
give you to your liking? Is there anything nice 
you can think of for me to send you?” 

He smiled. “The people here are very kind, 
indeed. I am under the quite special patronage 
of the chambermaid. Look there!” He pointed 
to the roses by his bed. “Besides, I really don’t 
want anything. I can’t take anything yet, ex- 
cept a little bouillon. I felt rather solitary and 
forsaken, that was all.” 

“You were surprised that you heard nothing 
of me?” she asked, in low tones. 

“Well, yes. Quite apart from this stupid busi- 
ness, which I most sincerely hoped would never 
come to be publicly known— I only had the news- 
paper a few moments before you came in — I was 
surprised, Lena, that, knowing me to be in 
Rome as you did, you had allowed so much time 
to elapse without letting me know whether you 
were alive or dead.” 

“Well, well, you shouldn’t wonder.” She 
wrinkled her forehead a little. “I thought you 


110 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


were a little encroaching. I was vexed, again, 
at your running away from my lunch that day 
without coming to me and saying good-by, only 
because I couldn’t give you, just then, as much 
attention as you thought you ought to have — oh, 
well! or wouldn’t; have it so, if you please! I 
don’t think it always necessary to make the same 
fuss with such a good friend, and old friend, as 
you. The honest truth is, that I was very angry 
with you indeed; and it happened, just at that 
moment, too, that I had such a frightful lot of 
things to attend to that I was obliged to give my 
mind to them and leave you to yourself a while. 
Then, to-day, there was I, sitting in the white 
parlor with the dome — that’s the coolest spot in 
the house — thinking no harm and feeling very 
angry again with you for your childishness, 
when lo and behold! in comes Sulzer with the 
Italia in an envelope addressed in a feigned 
hand. It struck me at once that something dis- 
agreeable had occurred. I tore the thing open, 
and there found — what you know. I went almost 
beside myself at once. I rang and ordered them 
to put to, and came to you without a moment’s 
delay, just as I was. There, look! I’ve got 
my indoor shoes on.” She showed him the tip 
of a little red slipper, with gold embroidery, peep- 
ing out from the edge of her dress. “Well, God 
be praised for all His mercies ! You are getting 
on much better than I feared. In fact, the porter 
below told me so before I came up. He said you 
were getting along famously, and the physician 
was quite satisfied. I really was half dead with 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


Ill 


apprehension. Poor Else ! Has any one written 
to her for you?” 

“No. Whom could I have got to write? With 
the exception of the Sister of Mercy who came 
to see after me for the first two days, and the 
physician, I’ve not seen a soul but the chamber- 
maid and the waiter.” 

“Well, we must see to that directly,” cried 
Lena, drawing off her long gloves and seating 
herself at the uncomfortable tiny writing-table, 
which was all that the room afforded for the pur- 
pose. “Will you dictate, or shall I write out of 
my own head?” 

“Oh, write out of your own head, Lena; it’s 
sure to be a good deal better than if I interfere.” 

“How would it be if I were to tell Else that 
she must come to Rome and nurse you back to 
health ? ’ ’ asked Lena, suddenly. 4 4 Then both of 
you could come and stay with me. That would 
be “charming!” 

The blood shot into his cheeks. 4 4 No, no, 
Lena!” he cried, quickly; “it would be simply 
foolish to tell Else to come on here ! In three 
days or so I shall be quite myself again, and 
then I shall not lose a moment in going home. 
If we were to summon Else here she’d be half 
dead with anxiety before she came to the end of 
her journey.” 

“There’s a good deal in that,” said Lena, re- 
flectively. 4 4 Taking all things into considera- 
tion, we won’t say anything to her just now 
about the way you received your injury. We’ll 
only tell her that you can’t move your right arm 


112 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


— that will do. Poor Else!” And Lena bent 
over the paper. 

She wrote quickly. The roller blinds had 
been let down ; a few spots of light were dancing 
on the floor; except for these the whole room 
was wrapped in a gray sort of twilight. 

Five minutes, six minutes, eight minutes. 

Then she raised her head, dashed the letter 
energetically on to the blotting-paper, and went 
with the letter and a lead pencil up to Werner. 
She put the letter on Werner’s traveling port- 
folio. “There! now you’ll have the goodness to 
use your respected left hand and just put a word 
or t wo and your signature where I’ve left a little 
space for it.” She placed the portfolio before 
him. 

Suddenly she felt some hard object or other 
under her feet. She stooped. It was a bracelet, 
a thick gold circle with a large sapphire set with 
a couple of brilliants. The corners of Lena’s 
mouth went down. 

“Somebody has mislaid something here,” she 
observed, dryly. “Who can it be? The waiter, 
the chambermaid, the physician, or the Sister of 
Mercy?” 

Werner would have been glad if the earth had 
opened and swallowed him. If he could have 
done as he liked he would simply have told her 
the facts. But there are cases when the truth is 
not “good form,” and falsehood, unfortunately, 
is. “The bracelet must have been dropped by 
the elderly English l^dy when she came to pro- 
vide me with all this enlivening reading matter, ” 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


113 


said he, pointing to the heap of religious publi- 
cations which was by the side of the roses on his 
night- table. 

“Oh! I never thought of her — ” 

At the same moment there came a knock at 
the door. 

“Come in,” cried Werner. 

Lena turned her head in the direction of the 
door in an unconcerned manner. The waiter it 
was, with a visiting card. “The gentleman 
wished to know if he could say a word to the 
baron?” 

“Prince Enzendorff!” Werner read, with 
astonishment. 

“He in Rome? I had not the least idea!” 
said Lena. All of a sudden she observed that 
Werner was so confused that he did not know 
what to say or do. “Let them tell him to come 
up this moment!” she said to him. She spoke 
quite roughly, and her eyes darted fire. When 
the waiter was gone she said, in very dry tones : 
“Do you know how you happen to look, Werner? 
Well, you look as if you were afraid that the 
prince might misinterpret my presence here.” 
Her cheeks were red with anger. “I’ve never 
done anything to be ashamed of in all my life ; 
I’ve never done anything which I would not 
have been willing to proclaim at the top of my 
voice in the face of all mankind!” 

Hardly had she said the words when the prince 
came into the room. When he saw her he gave 
a little start. But when she asked him, a little 
haughtily and contemptuously, too: “You are 


114 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


astonished, I suppose, to see me here?” he re- 
plied at once, with complete presence of mind, 
and a low bow: “Only agreeably surprised!” 
and added: “The only thing that affords matter 
for surprise is that our visits to our interesting 
patient should coincide in time, so fortuitously. 
After that foolish talk in the newspapers, it 
seems quite a matter of course that you should 
come in person to inquire and see how it is with 
so admirable a friend. And I think what he 
has done entitles him to it . 5 ’ 

“Is that really your opinion?” asked Lena, a 
little shaken. 

“Yes, it really is,” said the prince, rather 
strongly, adding in a low tone: “I would have 
given a good deal to have had the opportunity, 
instead of him!” 

Lena pretended not to hear. 

Werner, who meanwhile had held out his left 
hand to the prince, now asked him : 4 ‘ And what 
is it that happens to bring you here at this mo- 
ment, prince? Pure philanthropy? Or, is there 
some collateral motive?” 

“Most certainly there is. I have come to exe- 
cute a commission for Orbanoff,” replied the 
prince. He glanced at Lena. 

‘ ‘ Oh ! you can say whatever you like before 
me,” she replied to his glance. “I don’t care 
that for what Orbanoff chooses to think of me!” 
She pointed to the nail of her little finger. 

“I am rather sorry for that,” replied the 
prince, “for it happens, just now, that he is 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


115 


thinking of you as one who deserves the high- 
est admiration!” 

“You don’t say so! Then you’ve been doing 
something, perhaps, to correct his views about 
me?” 

“I have certainly not concealed from the 
prince the profound veneration and respect I 
entertain for you myself,” replied Enzendorff. 

She made no answer to this; but, instead, 
asked Werner: 

“Have you finished putting in what you want 
to say to your wife? Have you read what I’ve 
written? Is it all right, or do you want me 
to say something more for you? No? Then 
give it here. We’ll see that it’s posted directly. 
Adieu ! — Do you wish to do something to oblige 
me?” This last question to Enzendorff. 

“Countess!” 

“Well, then, do attend a little to this poor 
martyr here. It’s very tiresome to be lying 
helpless, away from your friends like that.” 

“I will do my best, depend upon it, countess. 
I wish you had laid upon me something more 
difficult,” said the prince; then he added, in 
tones of entreaty: “And may I be allowed the 
privilege of bringing to you personally report of 
your protege’s progress?” 

She hesitated a moment, and then said : “Yes. 
Adieu, Werner!” A little pressure of the hand, 
a smile of sweet encouragement from those mel- 
ancholy eyes of hers, which had so haunted him, 
and she was gone. 

“A remarkable woman indeed, that!” ob- 


116 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS.' 


served the prince, looking somewhat fixedly at 
the door she had passed through. “I don’t think 
I ever knew one who gave me so much material 
for reflection.” 

Meanwhile Lena drove home through the sub- 
dued, gray light of the late afternoon, which 
seemed to hover like a soothing caress over 
Rome. 

The Corso was crowded with carriages, and 
people bowed to her on all sides. She drove 
through the Forum and then past the Palatine, 
through the Arch of Constantine and further on, 
till she had about her . the soft rustling of the 
plane-trees clad newly in their spring foliage. 

She ordered the coachman to drive her a little 
further, on the Via Appia. 

A sort of feeling which she had never yet ex- 
perienced took possession of her. It was some- 
thing like that pleasant fatigue which comes on 
after not too severe exertion, and was attended 
by a gentle, insinuating melancholy. 

Werner was, necessarily, in the foreground of 
her thoughts. Not the Werner, however, whom 
she had just left helpless. Rather, the young 
enthusiast who had saved her life at Eltville. 
Very vividly did she remember how she had then 
put her hands on his shoulders and kissed his 
forehead, and how passionately she had longed 
for his love a little later. And then, with a 
swift, sudden stroke, the question shot through 
her whether that which her unhappy heart had 
so vainly craved for then might not, very prob- 
ably, now have been brought so close to her, so 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


117 


close that she had but to put out her hand a very 
little way to grasp it. 

She started, and closed her eyes. “Nonsense! 
Love! He! Me!” 

That fateful thought and word crossed her 
thoughts for a single moment. The very next 
moment she repudiated the very possibility of 
such a thing. 

“Nay, poor dreamer!’’ — so ran her thoughts 
— “I am nothing more than the object of some 
of that enthusiasm of his, of which he has so 
much to spare. Heaven forbid it should be 
more ! The bare thought of more feeling for me 
on his part than that looks as if I were abusing 
Else’s confidence. Even to imagine such a thing 
possible has a taint of vulgarity in it. Ugh! 
Horrible ! It makes one feel as if some dirt had 
got upon the very core of one’s soul !” 

The carriage drove, just then, past a little 
church, an insignificant little church with a 
cypress- tree on each side of it. The church door 
was open. And, at the darkened further end of 
this little house of God, she saw the candles on 
the altar burning with their red flame. 

Lena ordered the carriage to stop. She went 
up to the altar, knelt down and prayed. 

And she became so absorbed at her prayers, 
that she was entirely lost to what was happening 
around her. 

Suddenly her ears became sensible of some 
singing going on in the church. The notes were 
long-drawn, and the voices were fearfully sol- 
emn. She felt as though her whole being were 


118 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


suddenly enveloped in some vast ice-cold shadow, 
freezing her to the very marrow. 

She lifted her head and looked round her. The 
little edifice was filled with veiled forms, uni- 
formly dressed, and of formidable aspect. At 
her very elbow was a bier with its coffined corpse. 
One of these darkly-robed men, with a cord 
round his waist — all of them wore the cowl and 
mask peculiar to this order of servants of the 
dead — had a small flag in his hand, on which 
was figured a skeleton. 

Torches were carried by some of his compan- 
ions, and the red light of these, flaring with 
smoke, seemed to her fancy to be focused on the 
terrible symbol of that flag. Lena was startled. 
She was aware that it was only in times when 
epidemics were especially violent that interments 
occurred at so late an hour of the day. She made 
haste to leave the church. 

“Whose corpse is that over which the service 
is being performed?” she asked of an old woman 
who was sitting in a huddled heap upon the 
steps of the church. 

“Oh, that?” replied the old woman; “that’s 
the corpse of a young girl belonging to the Yigna 
there.” She pointed to a small brown house of 
hewn stone, laid without mortar, with deeply 
sunk windows. It was surrounded by an un- 
tended garden, a neglected little wilderness of 
vegetation. 

‘ ‘ Do you know what she died of ? ” asked Lena. 

“Oh, the perniciosa!” 

That worst form of malarial fever. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


119 


Lena recoiled. “The perniciosa?” she ex- 
claimed. “Why, it’s not late enough in the 
year for fever!” 

‘ 4 Oh ! the perniciosa is not particular about one 
season or another,” murmured the old woman. 
“It strikes all of a sudden, without any warning, 
just like love. And there’s only one way of sav- 
ing yourself when it does strike. Get away from 
here after the first shivering fit ; the third will 
finish you!” 

Lena stood as if rooted to the spot. The sound 
of that terrible singing became louder and more 
acute. An oppressive smell of burning wax 
candles seemed to fill the air, and she was un- 
ceremoniously pushed aside. The bier was being 
carried past. She became icy cold, suddenly, 
and trembled from head to foot. This close con- 
tact with the coffin and the corpse seemed quite 
to rob her of her self-possession. 

She got into her carriage hurriedly and ordered 
the coachman to drive home. And, as she went 
along, in the midst of the silence of the Cam- 
pagna, that awful song of the dead sounded for 
some time in her ears, as though she had the 
weird men with the torches close to her elbow 
still. 

The hood of the carriage was thrown open, 
and she looked round in the direction where the 
singers were carrying the victim of the pernici- 
osa to her last home. 

The funeral procession was following slowly in 
her wake* As the distance increased between 


120 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


herself and that melancholy train she began to 
breathe more freely again. 

Presently she saw the dark-brown forms and 
the torches and the smoke disappear from the 
Via Appia, into one of the side streets. It was 
making its way, no doubt, to one of the little 
churchyards scattered here and there in the 
Campagna. 

Lena began to feel more like her usual self 
again. The only marked influence about her 
now, was that of the spring with its living 
wealth of flowers and blooms among the ruins 
of the Campagna. And the impression of the 
flowers and the ruins mingled strangely with the 
sound of the Angelus bell, which was heard 
faintly from one quarter or another coming 
through the soft, sweet, empoisoned atmosphere 
into which the sun, now below the horizon, sent 
no ray of light. 

But outer influence can very rarely dispel any 
unusually strong inward movement of the soul. 
And the echoes of that mystic, penetrating 
hymn of the dead kept on resounding in Lena’s 
inmost heart. 

She could not extinguish those echoes. Nor, 
do what she would, could she wholly shake off 
that chill sensation of anguish and alarm which 
had penetrated her to the very bone in the pres- 
ence of those ministrants to the dead. 

And still the old woman, though out of sight 
now, kept saying in her ears : 

“The perniciosa is not particular about one 
season or another. It strikes all of a sudden, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


121 


without any warning, just like love. And there’s 
only one way of saving yourself when it does 
strike. Get away from here after the first shiv- 
ering fit; the third will finish you!” 


CHAPTER XXXVII. 

Sirocco! sirocco still! It seemed as though 
it would never cease. And the same gray, damp, 
foggy, strong-smelling, poisonous air enveloping 
Rome and all its picturesque vicinity ! 

Lena is seated in the white, circular room with 
its compartmented cupola, so like a miniature 
Pantheon in its structure. On her knees is lying 
a volume of Musset’s poems. The heat is too 
great for any literature taxing the attention more 
than poetry. Though it would be well, perhaps, 
if people were more wide-awake over verse than 
they usually think it necessary to be. In the 
present instance the heat seemed to be almost too 
great even for poetry. For the book had been 
lying open before her for a full quarter of an 
hour without her turning a leaf. Her brows 
were contracted, and she had a gloomy expres- 
sion on her countenance. She sighed, passed 
her hand over her eyes, sighed yet again, and 
then became lost in the contemplation of one of 
the bizarre arabesques of the mosaics of the floor. 

It was a singular design. A supple, slender 
female figure, in a supplicatory attitude, with a 
broad, shallow cup in her hands which she is 


122 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


holding out to a Chimoera quenching his thirst 
therefrom ! 

The design gave you the impression of being 
a sort of conventional antique rebus. 

What was this thing? Strange! A woman 
feeding a Chimoera ! A woman trying to coax a 
Chimoera, fierce with hunger pangs, into placid- 
ity ! Oh, what nonsense ! what utter nonsense ! 
The thing was a pretty arabesque, nothing less 
and nothing more ! 

Sirocco ! still sirocco ! heavier, even more sul- 
try. Still, that same smell, ascending from the 
earth, which seemed to bring with it, all but 
palpably to the senses, the germs of a fever; a 
fever aiming, with almost a conscious activity, 
at the springs of life; a fever selecting its vic- 
tims from the weakest among the crowds tread- 
ing the dangerous soil, with a terrible and deadly 
precision and discrimination. 

Some there were, endowed with exceptional 
nervous strength to balance their imaginative 
faculty, who took no greater hurt from this 
poisonous earth-odor than a little heavy dreami- 
ness, stimulating their perceptions of beauty. 
Many there were, on the other hand, to whom 
the imbibing of that air was a veritable draught 
of death. 

Werner is now convalescent. He is seated at 
the Hotel de V Europe, and is reading a long, 
sweet, loving letter from Else. 

“My Darling — I am delighted to learn that 
your damaged hand has been put to rights again, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


123 


and that you are going on so famously altogether. 
You seem to have got your head well above 
water now, so I can’t expect that you will have 
time enough on your hands to write full and 
long letters to me. I’ll let you off that without 
a murmur ; I shall be quite satisfied with know- 
ing that you are well and happy. But it makes 
me very anxious to be hearing, as I do, so much 
of the epidemic of fever which is spreading so in 
Rome. I entreat you, take all possible care of 
yourself, old man ! I have written to Lena — 
who seems to be most amiably and kindly dis- 
posed toward you — to keep an eye on you and to 
warn you as impressively as she can against silly 
imprudences which might have serious conse- 
quences. 

“Little Lizzie is always wanting to know 
where, papa can possibly be. Every night when 
she says her little prayer with me, she always 
adds something of her own for your special ben- 
efit, and asks God for something particularly 
nice for her dada. Yesterday the weather was 
very fine ; and so were the tarts. The little thing 
loves tarts beyond everything. It’s a privileged 
time of life. 

“Quite often, when she awakes very early in 
the morning, she says : ‘ The angels have told me 
such a fine story again!’ That’s the only way 
she knows of telling you that she has been dream- 
ing. She is a great dreamer, without knowing 
it ! She gets that from her papa. 

“The other children are preparing all sorts of 
surprises for you. They are ransacking their 
dear little brains for things to please you when 
you are with them again. Some of their sug- 
gestions are extraordinary indeed, dear, enthusi- 
astic little souls ! It moves me very deeply to see 
how they all hang upon your very name. Per- 
haps that is because you don’t, as a rule, take 
much notice of them. It’s for that reason, no 


124 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


doubt, that they treasure up every caress and 
every kind word they get from you. But I won’t 
spoil your pleasure by anything that sounds like 
reproach, dear fellow! I am perfectly aware 
that the poor little things do make an unwarrant- 
able noise sometimes. And they had no busi- 
ness to come into the world so quickly as that, 
one on the heels of another, the little tempests ! 
And I am always only too thankful to see that, 
though you don’t notice them much, under ordi- 
nary circumstances, if any one of them has so 
much as a pain in the tip of its little nose, you 
are much more anxious about it than I am. 
And, then, how can I be surprised that the small 
things dote on you so when their mamma sets 
them such a brilliant example? That sort of 
thing, of course, descends from parent to child. 
It’s part of Heaven’s kindness, surely, that it 
should. 

“Erica Sydow has a little boy, the sweetest 
little creature you can imagine. She is quite 
proud at his being such a fine fellow. Your cousin 
Goswyn is in the seventh heaven, and is just like 
a second mother to it. He reminds me a good 
deal of what you were to me when I was so very 
ill after Rhody’s birth. For I must say this for 
you: nobody in this world has such a tender heart 
and gentle hand when occasion calls for them. 
And, therefore” — (here a line or two was a little 
smudged) “The stupid tears! But you know 
they don’t signify much with me. I’m a ves- 
sel that quickly fills and runs over. Only — but 
let us get to something more merry. 

“Thilda can think of nothing but painting 
now. Everything else has its nose out of joint. 
She is painting something perfectly wonderful 
just now ; an allegory of the most imposing kind, 
which she. entitles ‘Modern Art.’ There’s only 
one figure, a centaur. He’s intended to signify 
the combination of the beastly and the divine, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


125 


which is Thilda’s idea of true genius. And his 
principal business seems to be galloping about in 
a meadow full of all sorts of staring flowers, and 
trampling them to death under his hoofs. Ryder- 
Smythe — the handsome — is sitting to her for the 
centaur; that is to say, only for the head, of 
course. The rest of the divine monster she’s 
getting from a plaster cast. Countess Lenzdorff 
will have it that Ryder- Smy the, who is reported 
to be embarrassed for money, is making up quite 
seriously to Thilda. But that must be all non- 
sense. With all her silliness, Thilda is not quite 
so silly as to think for a moment of marrying a 
charlatan like that American. 

“Yesterday was Rhody’s birthday. He was 
highly delighted with the letter which you wrote 
him. I made quite a heap of all the other pres- 
ents which came for him, and put your letter 
among them. And you should have seen the 
little fellow’s pride when he came upon it. He 
has quite made up his mind to write a letter to 
you himself. I have already ruled the paper for 
him. 

“We drank a demi-bottle of champagne to the 
health of the little hero of the day, and his papa. 

“There’s all our news. And now, good-by, 
darling. 

“I thought I could finish up without saying a 
word to you of what an empty thing life seems 
to me without you, and how anxious I am to 
have you by my side again; though ‘anxious’ is 
a weak word for it. But I find I can’t; it will 
out ! I often dream that you are here, and that 
you take hold of my arm and give me that look 
of yours which comes on your face when you’re 
sorry for me, or I’ve hurt you, saying: ‘What is 
wrong now, old woman?’ God forbid that any 
words of mine should interfere with your present 
enjoyment! Indeed, I have no words to say 
how very, very glad I am that you have at last 


126 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


some genuine and deep delight to vary the sad 
monotony of your existence, heart of mine ! But 
the truth is, that since I’ve been hearing all these 
dreadful things about the fever at Rome, I am 
in such constant alarm about you that it’s some- 
thing terrible'. And I suppose if I’ve written to 
you such a long letter, with such lots of detail, 
it is because I want to make you pine for home 
again just a little. We have nothing better to 
offer you here than what you read of in this let- 
ter. But is that really such a little thing, after all? 

“I know how Wonderfully beautiful Rome is, 
and how delightful it must be to be in Rome. 
But the finest things in this world are not always 
those that agree best with our health. Oh ! come 
back to the children before the poison in the Ro- 
man atmosphere has got into your veins ! What 
could I do with the children without you there 
to help?” 

Those were the last words of the letter. 

He laid it down with a sigh. 4 ‘Come home 
before the poison in the Roman atmosphere has 
got into your veins!” he murmured to himself. 

- It was not the air of Rome that had crept like 
poison into his system. It was something quite 
other than that air. And his conscience spoke 
to him with quite startling plainness. It told 
that, if the least portion of bodily and mental 
soundness was still left him, he could not too 
speedily leave Rome and its ruinously seductive 
beauty behind him. 

Yes, he must, he must away! He must bow 
his head under the old and too familiar yoke. 
As the thought took hold of him, he was seized 
with an access of sudden despair. An impulse 
to leap out of the window almost came upon him, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


127 


just as if he had suddenly seen some monstrous 
shape at his elbow, and putting out its awful 
hand to clutch him. 

But might he not give himself some few days’ 
grace? Only eight days, eight only days, clam- 
ored his thirsting heart ! Whereto came answer 
from his conscience, answer stern, inexorable: 
“No; not one hour!” 

No, indeed! Why, what had he been doing 
in these last two weeks, since Lena had, on that 
memorable day, sat by his bed of sickness, her 
eyes overflowing with compassion for him? 
What had this fortnight been, except a graceless 
time of grace, which he had so unwarrantably 
allowed himself, lengthening it out helplessly as 
day followed day? Had not this time been 
spent, really, in trying to persuade himself that 
the partial and superficial satisfactions, which 
were all he could allow his dangerous feelings, 
would so help him to assuage their anguish as to 
make departure, after a little while, come easier 
to him? And had he not had enough of this self- 
deception? Or, was it that all the nerves of 
sensibility, through which conscience acts, had 
been so dried up, dulled, blunted, by one over- 
mastering passion, that he had degenerated into 
a hard, sterile, barren, thoughtless kind of auto- 
maton, incapable of any feeling or motion save 
such as passion dictated? 

Nothing he had ever experienced in his life 
rivaled the dreamy sweetness of the first day or 
two of his convalescence ; and then followed tor- 
ture, unendurable torture ! 


128 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


The longing for her presence, when away from 
her, became more and more acute. But the sat- 
isfaction of merely being in her presence dimin- 
ished with every occasion of their meeting. 

When he saw her again his pulses beat, at 
first, with feverish rapidity. But in a few min- 
utes a sort of paralysis came over him ; he felt 
as if he were turned into a man of wood. In 
fact, more than once he actually avoided going 
near her, simply because he felt himself incapa- 
ble of saying a single intelligible word to her. 
And then he cursed himself for his stupidity in 
letting an opportunity pass of taking his fill of 
looking into her eyes. She noticed, of course, 
these changes in his demeanor, but she did 
not realize their true meaning. She would put 
questions to him, in her warm, anxious way, 
about his health, in that kind, motherly tone, 
which had at first been so soothing to him, but 
which now reduced him almost to the verge of 
despair. 

And yet he knew well, if he knew anything, 
that he owed her a deep debt of gratitude for 
this maternal tone of hers for keeping within 
some bounds of moderation this passion of his. 

“This passion of his?” he asked himself, 
with a sort of recoil. “Was he, indeed, driven 
to use such a word as that?” 

Yes! The facts were too strong for him. With 
a sort of cold despair he recognized that his feel- 
ing was describable only by that terrible word, 
It was love that had taken violent possession of 
his soul, passion ; love, passion the most fervent, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


129 


the most hopeless, that man ever felt for a woman 
forbidden him by every law, human and divine. 

What could it all lead to? He did not venture 
so much as the faintest wish or hope that it ever 
could lead to anything, except his misery. The 
bare thought of any injury coming to Lena’s 
soul through him was something from which he 
recoiled with positive horror. 

Looking, therefore, with such calmness as he 
could command, upon the situation, the best thing 
he could do was to summon up all his energies 
and put a summary end to it. 

He rang for the waiter and asked him if he 
would be so good as to pack his things for him. 
And when did the last train leave for Florence? 

The man told him that it was about eleven. 

Werner’s heart began to beat loudly. It 
seemed to him something disgraceful to run off 
in that heedless, headless manner. He felt that 
he ought to be ashamed of himself. 

He asked the man to lay out his evening dress 
for him. He determined that he would not leave 
by the night train, but by the first morning 
train. That evening it would be only right for 
him to go and see Lena, to pay her a farewell 
visit. It was the very least he could do, taking 
all things into consideration. 

****** * * 

And that evening, as it happened, was Lena’s 
weekly reception. A few people were assembled 
in the white hall of the Casino. They had fled 
there for refuge from the heat which was get- 


130 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


ting to be insufferable in the other rooms of the 
palace. 

The door leading to the garden was wide open. 
Werner had stopped his carriage at the foot of the 
ascent leading to the villa. And he had detected 
Lena’s presence while he was still some way off 
from where she stood. She seemed enveloped, as 
by some mystic robe, in the heat-laden mists of 
that sultry May evening. And he gazed at her as 
people gaze at things which they want to stamp 
irrevocably in their memory — things to which 
they are saying, now and forever, farewell. 

She was engaged in animated conversation, 
and standing with the white blooms of an olean- 
der-tree on one side of her, and, on the other, the 
statue of a mourning Eros. One of her hands 
rested on her hip, her other elbow was on the 
pedestal of the statue, the upper part of her frame 
was thrown slightly back, and her head inclined 
to her left shoulder. And grouped about her 
were a number of those international dandies, 
who may be said to be known by sight to all the 
ball-rooms of Europe; conspicuous among them 
— Enzendorff. 

It was he who, for the moment, seemed prin- 
cipally to occupy her attention. Though there 
were none but men in her immediate vicinity^, 
her demeanor evinced not the slightest conscious- 
ness of the fact. Nothing could be more free 
from the least suspicion of coquetry. It evinced 
nothing except amiable and kindly acceptance, 
or recognition, of the homage she was receiving 
at those gentlemen’s hands. Her bearing was 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


131 


always too decidedly that of command — though 
gentle and amiable command — to suggest any # of 
the weaknesses of her sex. No one could possibly 
imagine, for a moment, that any one of those 
surrounding her exercised the very smallest in- 
fluence over her, except such as, of full conscious 
purpose, she chose to permit. 

Among the gentlemen with their black even- 
ing-dress, and the ladies, who were nearly all in 
quite light colors, there was one spot of red which 
scorched Werner’s eyes very unpleasantly. 
Could it be possible? Yes! There, in a fire-red 
dress, decolletee within an inch of her life, her 
classically beautiful shoulders and arms in full 
display, between two nearly beardless Belgian 
youths traveling for the first time in their lives 
without a bear leader, sat Ilka Orbanoff ! Her 
unrestrained laughter was heard far out in the 
garden. 

.Werner stepped out of the shadows of the gar- 
den, where he had remained studying the scene 
a while, and went up to pay his respects to 
Lena. 

She could only just give him her hand to kiss, 
and then had to turn away to the tea-things, 
which w^ere just at that moment carried in on a 
table by a couple of footmen. And she was now 
obliged to confine herself to her tea-making du- 
ties, and to the task of entertaining an exceed- 
ingly vivacious old English lady, who seated 
herself by her hostess. The gentlemen she had 
just left came thronging round the table, and 
they were joined by others. She was so sur- 


132 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


rounded, in fact, that Werner was obliged, for 
the moment, to give up the idea of getting near 
her. 

As he could not bring himself to enter into 
anything like a conversation with anybody he 
saw there, he took a seat as near as he decorously 
could to some people who were talking volubly 
together, hoping that their voices would afford 
a decent cover for his silence. 

There was a good deal of talk going on about 
the room concerning the “perniciosa,” and the 
two victims, members of the foreigners’ colony, 
who had just fallen victims to it. Some ex- 
pressed great fear; some either shuddered or 
shook themselves, more or less consciously. Those 
might be serious symptoms, perhaps! So the 
two Belgian youths ran up to Lena, and asked 
her with alarm if she had any Eucalyptus ex- 
tract. She laughed; and, in a moment, these 
amiable youngsters were going about the room, 
one of them with a cut-glass bottle, the other 
with small glasses on a silver salver, and offering 
the desired prophylactic to the ladies with all the 
airs and graces of the most accomplished wait- 
ers; of which, they declared, they had become 
absolute masters, in consequence of their having 
had the charge of the refreshment sideboard at 
the last fancy fair in Brussels. When the ladies 
had taken a sip of this they seemed to have had 
enough of the perniciosa, and could speak of 
nothing but the ball which was to take place 
that week at the Mariani Palace, in honor of the 
betrothal of the young Princess Mariani. What 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


133 


an idea ! they cried, to give a ball with such an 
epidemic of fever at its height ! 

The interest of the talkers was soon attracted 
by other subjects in different directions. 

One of the two young Belgians had gone and 
seated himself at the piano in the adjacent salon, 
and now proceeded to give the assembly a speci- 
men of his musical abilities and education, which 
were certainly not a little remarkable in their 
way. 

This promising youth, as we have just men- 
tioned, had lately been emancipated from the 
hands of his tutor, an extremely ascetic Jesuit. 
And perhaps it was owing to the exuberance of 
his new freedom that he began to favor the 
company with some songs, the words of which 
were more fit for the typical cafe chantant of 
Paris than the select company he was now in. 
And this he did, accentuating the improprieties 
with every sort of gesture and contortion he 
could think of, to show his own delight in them, 
poor wretch ! However severe his training may 
have been, it had left him, it would seem, insen- 
sible to the dividing line between the things that 
can and that cannot be said and done in society. 
The people present were taken aback somewhat 
by his performances. 

Nevertheless, they met, it must be confessed, 
with a certain measure of success. The adjoin- 
ing room* was soon crowded, and the piano sur- 
rounded by his little public. There was much 
amusement, and not a little whispering and 
laughing. And those who enjoy the spectacle 


134 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


of their fellow- creatures making themselves ridic- 
ulous might have been well satisfied. The only 
person who did not know what to make of it all 
was Miss ^Sinclair, who went about from one 
person to another with uplifted brows, asking 
with all her might: “What does it all mean? 
Oh! please do tell me, what does it all mean?” 

Lena stood somewhat apart from her guests, 
while this scene was going on, with Enzendorff 
at her side, and with a frown on her brow. 
These proceedings were evidently distasteful and 
annoying beyond measure to her. Enzendorff 
said to her: “This is really insupportable ! Will 
you empower me to go and order the unhappy 
young fellow to stop?” 

Werner felt a constriction at his throat. In- 
tolerable presumption of Enzendorff to assume 
the office of censor in Lena’s house in that fash- 
ion! Ilka Orbanoff saw her opportunity, and 
came, just at that moment, and seated herself by 
his side. This was the first time they had met 
since the day when she had boasted of her readi- 
ness to proclaim her enthusiastic admiration for 
and devotion to him to all the four quarters of 
the earth, and had, the very next moment, run 
away and escaped by the back stairs. Werner 
had always greatly admired her beauty, while 
despising her character ; and the incident referred 
to had, very naturally, strengthened that con- 
tempt. 

He could not but apprehend that she would 
again begin that operation of throwing herself 
at his head which had so offended his taste, and 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


135 


he was determined, this time, to use his weapons 
of defense in a manner she would never forget. 
But it turned out that there was no need, at this 
moment, for his buckling on his armor. Ilka 
was disposed, it seemed, just then, to leave her 
own interests and inclinations out of account; 
for the subject she opened her talk about was — 
Lena. 

‘ ‘ This is decidedly one of her beauty days — 
Countess Lena’s, I mean. Don’t you think so?” 
she said. 

u You are quite right!” he murmured. 

She moved a little nearer. 

“In which of the two parties have you enrolled 
yourself?” she asked. 

“In what fight?” he replied. 

“Oh! it’s the Enzendorff business,” Ilka 
whispered. “Roman society is divided into two 
camps. One set bets that he marries her, the 
other bets that he doesu’t marry her.” 

Werner turned rather giddy. “I had not the 
least idea that anything of the sort was going 
on,” he murmured; then, pulling himself to- 
gether, though it was difficult, he added: “It 
would gratify me much to see the countess make 
such a good match. Enzendorff is a thorough 
gentleman.” 

He looked round for the pair as he said the 
words ; but Lena and Enzendorff had left the 
white salon. 

Ilka moved her chair a little nearer still to 
Werner. “Beaten off the field, poor fellow!” 


136 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


she whispered. “Well, we must try to comfort 
you!” 

At that moment Lena happened to step to the 
door which separated the white salon from the 
hall. The door was decorated with bizarre ara- 
besques in stucco, and Lena stood quite still 
there for a moment, looking like her own full- 
length portrait framed in the jambs of the door. 
She flung a smile to Werner over the shoulder of 
the red-haired Croatian, invisible to the latter, 
whose back was turned to her. It was a smile 
of a kind Werner was not familiar with on 
Lena’s face. The smile that he had known there 
had always been filled with warm friendliness, 
dashed with roguish humor; but this new smile 
was rather one of defiance, challenge, mockery. 
Werner was so struck by it that, without a 
word of apology for his abruptness, not to say 
rudeness, he rose, left the princess to her own 
devices, and went up to Lena, 

“You have been so surrounded that I haven’t 
been able to get a word with you,” he said. 

“Had you anything oL special importance to 
communicate?” she asked him. She was like a 
quite changed creature; her manner was repel- 
lent and defiant. 

“Yes.” 

“Then you might have made some sign to me 
to that effect, and I would have made an oppor- 
tunity for you at once. I thought that you were 
so pleasantly engaged that it would be quite a 
pity to disturb you.” 

She threw a glance at the Croatian lady, who 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


137 


was now absorbed, as it appeared, in examining 
some of the photographs which were lying about 
on one table or another. 

“Can you guess what the entertaining subject 
was that the princess and I were discussing?” 
asked Werner. 

“Oh! how should I know?' Beauties of that 
sort have such a very" peculiar way of managing 
their minds that I quite despair of following 
their working; don’t think it worth trying 
even!” 

Werner colored a little. After a short pause 
he said: “The princess was acquainting me 
with the fact that society here in Rome is quite 
busy discussing your approaching engagement 
to Enzendorff.” 

“Oh, indeed!” said Lena. “Then society 
here in Rome knows a great deal more about 
the matter than I do. Enzendorff is behaving 
uncommonly well, and doing everything in his 
power to make amends for his mistake, as in- 
deed he ought ; but, as to marriage, he is think- 
ing just as little about any such thing as I am.” 

“Those are words that I rather fancy I’ve 
heard ladies in society say before. And, if I am 
not mistaken, they were quite speedily followed 
by the engagement they denied,” murmured 
Werner, looking at the young woman rather 
uneasily from beneath his contracted brows. 

“Oh! people can’t always answer for them- 
selves. The most improbable things have a way 
of happening, sometimes,” said Lena; then, 
contracting her brows too, and turning her eyes 


138 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


in the direction of the handsome Croatian, she 
said slowly and in low tones, but sharply accent- 
uating every syllable! “Do just look at that 
bracelet the princess has on. Don’t you think 
that it has quite a remarkable resemblance to 
the one lost in your room by that philanthropic 
old lady from England, who provided you so lib- 
erally with religious literature when you were 
laid up?” 

Werner was mortally embarrassed, and could 
not conceal it. 

Lena scrutinized him keenly from head to foot. 

Something red, with a pair of dazzling white 
shoulders rising out of it, rustled by the two, 
who were so deeply absorbed in each other, in 
its transit from the salon to the hall. It was 
Ilka Orbanoff. Lena’s gaze followed her. 

“I really had not noticed till now how de- 
cidedly handsome she is ! ” murmured Lena. 
Then, with a very sharp edge on her voice, she 
added: “There’s no denying it; you have un- 
commonly good taste!” 

“Lena!” he said, in a sort of stupefaction, 
looking her full in the eyes. “Lena!” 

“I suppose you’ll imagine, next, that I’m 
jealous!” she exclaimed, hastily. Two bright 
red spots were burning on her «heeks, and she 
was unmistakably disturbed and not as much 
mistress of herself as usual. “It’s a matter of 
the most supreme indifference to me how you 
amuse yourself, one way or another. It’s Else 
that interests me, and I should be very sorry for 
her to be hurt ; but she needn’t know anything 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


139 


about it, of course. No doubt you’ll be able to 
tell some lie about it to her, just as glibly as you 
did to me.” 

“Lena, are those words worthy of you?” he 
murmured. 

“Do you mean to say, seriously, that you did 
not tell me a lie about it?” she answered, speak- 
ing still in the same suppressed voice, very 
quickly and with the same sharp articulation 
of every syllable. 

“Oh! about the stupid bracelet? Well, yes. 
And what in Heaven’s name was I to do?” 

“Oh, certainly!” she looked down with a dark 
expression. “I forgot. There are some cases 
in which perjury is a matter of honor.” 

“I think there’s a considerable distance be- 
tween my innocent little falsehood and perjury. 
And, in fact, there was no real need even for the 
falsehood, though I didn’t quite see that at the 
time. I might have spared myself the burden of 
it. The princess in question had, just the mo- 
ment before you came in, paid me a visit, as I 
was lying helpless there. She heard somebody 
coming, and fled by the back stairs, which was 
a stupid thing to do, for there was not the slight- 
est reason for her concealing her doings. But 
some women are made so. They are never happy 
unless they are striking an attitude, or doing 
something theatrical. And they think that by 
playing at hide and seek a little, when they’re 
doing the most innocent things in the world, 
they put a little halo of romance round their silly 
heads.” 


140 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


But Lena was not to be pacified. There was 
no holding her. She seemed to have lost her 
head altogether. 

“You are very clever!” she said in low, mock- 
ing tones, “extraordinarily clever! I’d not the 
least idea you were so clever! However, the 
affair is no business of mine, not the very least 
in the world. And my duties as hostess posi- 
tively forbid my protracting this confidential 
conversation ad infinitum .” She made to pass 
him and go into the salon. 

He held her back. “One moment only, Lena! 
I should like to give you my warm thanks for 
all the kindness you have shown me. I start to- 
morrow for home at an early hour, and my ob- 
ject in coming here to-night was to let you know, 
and take leave of you.” 

“Take leave?” she murmured. “Early to- 
morrow?” Her voice sounded wooden, as if it 
had lost all power of expression. Did his eyes 
deceive him, or was it really the fact that she 
turned pale? She went on: “I was under the 
impression that you had made up your mind not 
to go till after the fete at the Mariani Palace!” 
She brought out the words impetuously, as 
though they forced themselves from her; and 
the angry expression did not leave her face. 

“I feel that the air of Rome disagrees with 
me,” he replied, very simply. 

She bit her lips. No, he had not mistaken ; 
she had become as pale as death. She had 
stepped out, by this time, from the framework 
of that old-fashioned door, and was now stand- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


141 


ing where she had stood when Werner came 
into the hall that evening, between the statue 6f 
the weeping Eros and the white flowering olean- 
der-tree. Her hand was supported again on the 
pedestal of the statue. But her attitude was no 
longer marked by the negligent grace and charm 
it had at the earlier moment. She looked now 
as if her whole frame was clenched, and might 
be convulsed at any moment. 

“Ah! you are afraid of the perniciosa?” she 
said, in a mocking voice. 

“Perhaps,” he replied. 

“How very fine and noble! A man who, be- 
cause he’s afraid Of an epidemic in a town, runs 
away in cold blood from his friends!” she said, 
cuttingly. 

That speech was so exceedingly foolish that it 
was not possible for him to feel the least resent- 
ment. He smiled almost compassionately, shrug- 
ging his shoulders, and said : 

“Do you really think I’m afraid of that? 
Cowardice was never one of my faults. I never 
was backward in risking my life even when it 
was still of some account and value in my own 
eyes!” 

“And now, I suppose, it is not of any account 
or value in your eyes'?” 

“Absolutely none! I see nothing in it to ad- 
mire, or set any value on at all. It is with me 
as with Hamlet. ‘I do not value my life a pin’s 
fee!’ ” he replied. 

“Indeed!” Her voice became sharper and 
sharper; such tones he had never yet heard pro- 


142 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


ceed from those lips. It was something like 
what might come of the attempt of a person, suf- 
fering acute bodily pains, to sing, and bringing 
out tones which were half screech, half song. 
“Then, we are taking all this care of ourselves 
for the sake of our relatives, our family, to whom 
we are so indispensable!” 

He fastened his reproachful eyes upon her 
face. “Lena, you might have spared those 
words! No one knows better than I do what a 
poor, worn, second-hand piece of superfluity I 
am to my family; a sort of vent for their affec- 
tionate feelings; and, beyond that, nothing! 
Oh, no ! I know only too well that, if I were to 
die to-morrow, a good deal more than green 
grass would be full-grown on my grave before 
six months were over; but there’d be plenty of 
flowers among that grass; aye, and the finest 
of flowers too ! It’s not the epidemic which is 
frightening me away from Rome; by no means 
the epidemic !” 

Her head sank, and she said not a word. 

From without, through the wide-open front 
doors of the hall, came the dew-idamp breath of 
the sirocco, and the gurgle and splash of the 
fountains ! 

In the adjoining room the Belgian youth had 
just begun to favor the company with another 
song. 

The verses turned upon the adventures of a 
certain bird, whose eccentricities in the matter 
of nesting have made it the symbol of the worst 
kind of domestic misfortune. The young gentle- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


143 


man sang them with a sort of drastic naivete, if 
the two ideas can be thought of as going to- 
gether. Every stanza was warmly applauded. 

Werner felt as if his head were going round. 
What a strange world it was ! This background 
of culpable levity, and, standing out from it in 
full relief, Lena, pale, chaste, her fine face and 
form speaking so eloquently of the heavy-laden 
life, clad in white ; and so enveloped in the bit- 
ter, almond-like perfume of the oleander that 
one might almost fancy it proceeded as much 
from herself as from the tree. 

“And, if it is not the epidemic that drives you 
from Rome, what is it, then?” she asked, in 
slow tones. 

He gave her an uncertain, scrutinizing sort of 
glance, and then said, with some decision : 4 4 Ask 
me not! I may not tell you!” 

“Oh! pray excuse me,” she replied, icily. “I 
had no desire to pry into your private affairs. 
You know best .what is good for you. I will 
not detain you unnecessarily any longer. Adieu ! 
Bay everything that is kind for me to Else and 
the children!” 

She held out her hand to him as she might 
have done to any indifferent person, and half 
turned to the salon. 

He held her hand firmly ; she could not move. 

4 4 Lena!” he murmured, 4 4 It was but a few 
poor minutes that we had for this leave-taking. 
Why have you poisoned them so? I would have 
been so thankful for one sweet, last memory to 
take back with me to my home!” 


144 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


She shrugged her shoulders, and repeated, 
“Adieu!” 

He went, putting one foot before another in 
the way we might imagine the possibility of a 
man doing it after he had had his head removed 
from his shoulders. 

All the arrangements in the Villa Brancaleone, 
furniture and everything, were turned topsy- 
turvy by now, owing to the hot weather. In 
order to reach the place where he had left his 
overcoat, he was obliged to go through the log- 
gia where the statues were. And he heard, be- 
hind him, a low voice that cried: “Werner!” 

He thought that he must be dreaming; he 
heard it a second time : “Werner!” And then 
he turned. 

Among the white statues he saw something 
that looked paler and more mysterious than they 
did, and which was standing just as strangely, 
mysteriously still. He could not understand. 
He thought it must be a work of his imagina- 
tion. Then the pale form stretched out both its 
hands to him, and once again the name sounded 
through the damp sirocco atmosphere, “Wer- 
ner!” 

He hastened to the form and took its hands in 
his. They were as cold as ice, cold with an un- 
natural coldness. Werner was startled as they 
came into contact with his own. 

She lifted her eyes to his; those eyes were 
lighted up with a strange fire he had never seen 
in them before. “Werner,” she murmured yet 
again, “it was horrible of me! I am sorry!” 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


145 


Her voice, too, was different; it seemed to 
tremble with some new influence. What was 
it? Was it suppressed defiance or suppressed 
anguish? And the expression about her mouth, 
too. All so new to him, all so entirely unfamil- 
iar to her face. He turned quite giddy. What 
would the next minute bring with it? Would 
she begin to laugh, or — 

Before he could think of what she might do 
if she did t not laugh, she had begun to speak 
again. 

“I should be very, very sorry, too, if these 
pleasant relations of our friendship and inter- 
course were to be now suspended for a season in 
any way that did not harmonize with their for- 
mer sweetness. You shall not go back to your 
dear, lovely home without carrying there as 
good and kind a memory of me as you possibly 
can. But I can’t get my wits or myself into 
anything like good order among all these strange 
people. Don’t go away till the day after to-mor- 
row, and come ^s early as you can to-morrow 
morning, if possible about seven, before the heat 
begins, and take me for a ride into the Campagna. 
You shall drink in one last full draught of the 
beauty of Rome ; and then you shall go, and God 
go with you!” 

He kissed her hand. ‘ ‘ Good-night !” she mur- 
mured, and hastened away. 

He followed her retreating form with his eyes. 
“To-morrow, then!” she cried, just as she dis- 
appeared from his view, and before he had time 
to return her cry, “to-morrow!” 


146 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


He got into the first cab standing before the 
villa — cabs were always waiting there for fares 
on those Wednesday evenings — and drove to 
“the Europe.” 

“At what hour does the baron wish to be 
called in the morning?” asked the porter, who 
had been expecting him for some time. 

“About half-past six,” replied Werner, whose 
mind was elsewhere, and who seemed puzzled 
why the question should be put to him. 

“Very well. What train does the baron go 
by?” 

The question affected Werner unpleasantly. 
He shrank a little.- “I am not going by any 
train!” he answered curtly, and went to his 
room. 


CHAPTER XXXVIII. 

It was long before sleep came to him that 
night ; and when it did come it was heavy, leaden 
sleep. When he awoke, under the compulsion 
of a loud knocking at his door, it was with diffi- 
culty he could force his eyes open and get the 
full use of his brain again. What in the world 
were they rousing him at so unconscionably early 
an hour for? His first glance fell upon his port- 
manteau, which was packed and only awaited the 
final touches before departure. Ah, true! He 
had intended to start that morning. And then 
it came to him, all of a sudden, that he had 
made that arrangement with Lena for a ride. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


147 


When he now, in the clear light of morning, 
recalled her singular behavior and demeanor 
during that strange interview, it seemed to him 
so very extraordinary that he could not help ask- 
ing himself whether it was all real, or whether 
he had not rather been the sport of some impish 
spirits counterfeiting reality. 

The white, pale fo^m came up before his eyes 
again, standing among the pale, white statues. 
He saw once more the glitter in her eyes, glit- 
tering with tears or fever, or both; he felt again 
those ice-cold hands, he heard the subdued trem- 
bling tones of her voice. And all these things 
seemed, taken together, to be almost the very 
realization of all he had ever heard of the mani- 
festations made by creatures not of this world, 
in the brief moments when they are permitted 
to visit the earth again. He went on thinking 
almost mechanically, rubbing his eyes, brood- 
ing, doubting, like a man taken in a net. Sup- 
pose it was no spirit ! Suppose that it was Lena, 
the veritable Lena, the Lena of flesh and blood, 
what difference did it make? Spirit or Lena, 
it was all one, for that matter. It was Lena 
that was making sport of him for her amuse- 
ment, instead of some ghostly creature. But 
that did not help him much if he was predes- 
tinate to befoolment! Yet there was no get- 
ting over the fact that some creature very like 
Lena, and very like flesh and blood, had made 
that arrangement for that morning; had in all 
seriousness appointed him for seven that morn- 
ing at the Villa Brancaleone for a ride in the 


148 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


Campagna. And so, gradually, in spite of the 
morbid fancy that was forcing him into the 
region of unrealities, there came back to him 
every syllable, every glance, exchanged between 
them the evening before. True, there had been 
some fairy, some sprite present on the occasion, 
a mocking sprite, uncanny and unapproachable ! 
But the sprite was a woman, too, with a warm, 
human heart. And that heart had so spoken 
that the imp, the fairy, the witch, had vanished 
at its voice, whose echoes now made his blood 
course in his veins with a wildness never before 
experienced. 

He told the man to bring him hot water and 
unpack his riding things, and then dressed him- 
self hurriedly and went out into the Piazza di 
Spagna. 

Everything was quite still ; the noises of the 
day had not yet begun. No sounds were to be 
heard except the pealing of the many bells and 
the splashing of the many fountains of Rome. 
The shops were not yet open, and the jalousies 
at the windows of all the houses were still not 
thrown back. 

The wheels of his cab as it went along roused 
ghostly echoes in the great stillness. There was 
hardly a soul to be seen about ; only some pale, 
tired flower-seller here and there, fitting on the 
threshold of a house arranging her red and white 
roses. 

On the stairway of the Piazza di Spagna there 
were the forms of a couple of men from the Cam- 
pagna. They were pale as corpses, and lying at 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


149 


full length, almost as still as corpses. He drove 
to the Villa Condotti,, then through the Corso, 
by the Palazza Venezia, and through the Forum. 
Everywhere was the same sacred silence, every- 
where that melancholy sound of bells with the 
accompaniment — ironical, fancy might almost 
deem it — of the plash of fountains. 

Presently the cab stopped before the gate of 
Lena’s villa. The scent of the white roses, 
growing thickly over it, struck his senses keenly 
in the morning air. The porter opened for him 
at once. 

Werner had not quite shaken off his fear that 
it might turn out, at the last moment, that Lena 
had been playing with him. But it was not so. 

A man servant was on the steps of the 
principal entrance, and asked Werner to follow 
him to her excellency’s boudoir. The countess 
would be there directly. 

A few minutes passed before she entered. 

His attention was at that moment absorbed by 
a large photograph which he had noticed lying 
on the piano; and which, on going up to inspect 
it, he found to be Botticelli’s “Spring.” 

He was deep in the consideration of the 
strange symbolism of the picture when a light 
step struck his ear. Lena it was, clad in her 
riding-habit; she was in the act of coming down 
the small winding stairs — cast-iron stairs they 
were and covered with carpet — which connected 
the boudoir with her own more private cham- 
bers. 

“It’s good of you to be so punctual,” she said, 


150 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


holding out her hand to him. “By which I 
mean, if the truth is to be spoken, t^at you are 
not quite punctual; you’re really a quarter of 
an hour before your time. All the better! It 
won’t be so hot before we get in again.” Then 
her eyes fell on the photograph: “Oh, who has 
fished out that ugly, hateful thing! Sinclair, 
no doubt. It’s a picture I simply can’t endure, 
though there’s no denying its beauty. It was a 
favorite with the Cardinal, though. He used 
to say that it had as much meaning in it as 
Goethe’s ‘Faust.’ I think it just horrible!” As 
she said the words she took a vase that was 
filled with red roses and put it right over the 
figure of the black Demon in the right hand 
corner of the picture. “Have you had any 
breakfast?” she asked Werner. She was nearly 
as pale as on the evening preceding, and her 
eyes shone with the same extraordinary light. 

He had not thought about it, of course, as she 
had anticipated. She made him take a cup of 
tea and a biscuit or two, as well as a glass of 
the Eucalyptus extract. 

Her manner suggested a mind torn in differ- 
ent directions, a person in whom the sense of 
joy was dying out, one from whom the shadows 
of the night before had not yet passed away; 
perhaps never would. 

The horses were standing ready for them out- 
side. Werner lifted her into the saddle; very 
awkwardly, too, as is usual with gentlemen 
who have not made a study how to do it* 
Though he was a man of such large mold, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


151 


and with such a look of strength on his frame, 
the exertion seemed almost as if it were too 
much for him. And the groom, who was at 
his elbow, a little fellow who looked as if he 
had no muscles at all, indulged himself in a 
grin of conscious superiority. 

They set off, and were in the Campagna in a 
few moments. 

The sky was once more getting its tinge of 
Italian blue, after being veiled so long; but the 
atmosphere was still quivering with a treacher- 
ous moisture which the sunbeams were weaving 
into veils of gold. And mists and sunbeams to- 
gether hung like a halo about the ruins and the 
olive groves, and all over the great plain. Both 
of them had looked forward to this ride as a last 
pleasure; but, now that they were taking it, 
there was very little in the demeanor of either 
that suggested any sort of satisfaction. There 
were so many things that each of them had 
wanted to say to each other. Yet, now that 
they were pacing side by side in that wilderness, 
neither of them seemed able to utter a single 
word. 

A dreadful sense of fatigue, fatigue of body 
and soul, was on them both. Better might it have 
been, perhaps, to turn the heads of their horses 
homeward without riding far. But they rode 
on and on through the golden mist, past ruins 
after ruins and olive groves after olive groves; 
over the green carpet of that strange soil which 
the summer had not yet come to scorch and the 
spring had clothed in all its wonderful vesture 


152 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


of flowers. Neither of the two had the least 
idea where they were going to. Neither of the 
two, indeed, wanted to have any such idea. 
Each of them seemed disposed to wait till the 
other said, “Enough of it nowf” And, as 
people so often do, who ride without any notion 
of going to any place in particular, they started 
their horses from time to time into such a mad 
gallop, leaping over anything that came in their 
way, that you might fancy they were trying to 
escape from some pursuing enemy; or — alas! — 
trying to come up with some Delight, mounted 
on faster- footed steed than carried them, and 
whom they were fated never to reach in that 
wild race of theirs. 

Lena's horse sped madly along as though it 
had no rider at all. Werner knew what an ad- 
mirable horsewoman she was, and left her to 
her own devices accordingly. She was surely 
safe enough without any special care or protec- 
tion from him. 

They had come nearly up to the tomb of Ce- 
cilia Metella when Lena, who was a little in 
advance, turned to him saying: “Look about 
you, do look about you! Is it not all astonish- 
ingly beautiful at this early morning time?” 

“Yes, beautiful, indeed,” he said. “I don't 
think Rome ever looked so absolutely beautiful 
to me before.” 

“I told you that I would show you how lovely 
Rome can be when it tries.” 

“Yes, how lovely Rome can be!” he mur- 
mured, in low tones, and giving her a side 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


153 


glance. “And how beautiful life, too, might 
be if it might try!” 

She made no answer, except by a slight but 
marked convulsive movement of her hand. Her 
horse, which had already been excited — in that 
strange sympathy which a fine creature of that 
kind has with the mood of its rider — by Lena’s 
excitement and agitation, made at that moment 
a violent spring forward. Instead of doing 
something to quiet the animal, Lena gave him 
a sharp cut with the whip; and the next mo- 
ment his forefeet were pawing the air. 

Werner made as if he would come to her as- 
sistance. But she signed to him to do nothing 
of the sort ; he saw at once that it was not ab- 
solutely necessary, and indeed, might, perhaps, 
only lead to further harm. She kept her seat 
admirably, and gave the animal his head; and 
next instant the creature was off at racing pace. 

Werner did his best to follow her; but his own 
horse, an excitable, restive creature at best, now 
began to kick and rear, too. He tried hard to 
bring it to submission and get up with Lena. 
But before he could succeed in reaching her the 
unhappy lady’s horse shied violently at the sight 
of a man who was lying in the grass. It reared 
then again almost straight upright; and the next 
thing was that Lena was flung to the ground, 
and her horse dashed madly away. 

Werner flung his. reins to the man who had 
involuntarily done the mischief, and sprang 
from the saddle. He knelt down by Lena’s 
side. She lay motionless; there was not a 


154 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


particle of color in her cheeks, her eyes were 
shut, her lips parted. Werner was horror- 
struck. It looked much more like death than 
life. 

She was lying in the full, hard, pitiless sun- 
shine. He lifted her in his arms and carried 
her into the broad, deep shadow cast by the 
tomb of Metella upon the sward. 

Then he looked round for help. The groom 
had gone off at break-neck speed; his only idea 
was to catch the runaway horse, in which he 
took a much greater interest than in the fate of 
its luckless rider, it would seem. 

There was nobody visible but the peasant with 
whom the mischief had originated; but no great 
way beyond Werner saw smoke ascending over 
a vineyard, and some human beings, doubtless, 
had their abode there. Making the best use he 
could of the little Italian he was master of, Wer- 
ner ordered the peasant to tie the horse to an 
olive tree and fetch a pitcher of water as well 
as some wine. The man went, and Werner bent 
over Lena again. There was no change. It 
was still the same motionless, huddled heap 
upon the dark green grass, and all about the 
poor form those peculiar white flowers which 
Werner had observed growing in that vast 
ruinous waste of the Campagna, with small, 
red flower- torches, glowing as if with fire, as 
they rose out of the large white petals; to his 
fancy they seemed like the dreadful grave lights 
of legend. And, indeed, what was that whole 
desolate region but one vast graveyard? 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


155 


He covered the hands of the unconscious wo- 
man with his kisses. Not the slightest motion 
in her frame ! Then it occurred to him that her 
dress ought to be loosened a little that she might 
get air. He shivered at the thought as though 
it were profanation. Then he reproached him- 
self for his folly. He took the pin from her 
collar, and, with its help, undid the hooks and 
buttons of the upper part of her dress. 

Her hat had fallen from her head, and her 
hair fell half disheveled upon her neck. He 
leaned her head, with its pale, death-like face, 
against his shoulder. He felt as though his 
senses would leave him, as though he were 
being overpowered altogether by the sense of 
mingled horror and compassion; he sobbed, 
and pressed a kiss upon her temples, almost 
involuntarily, unconsciously, as though it were 
some other person doing it, not himself. 

And as he did it he gave a start. 

Ha! What was that? Was she really mak- 
ing some movement at last while he had her 
thus in his arms? He bent over her more 
closely; yes, some faint trace of color had cer- 
tainly come into her cheeks. Had she really 
awoke to consciousness again? Had his kiss 
done it? he asked himself. 

But no, surely that was not possible! If she 
had realized how he had thus abused her state 
of unconsciousness she would have started back 
to full life at once and imperiously bade him to 
leave her presence in all the wrath and severity 
of deeply offended maidenhood. But there was 


156 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


no movement in her at all. And yet, now that 
he looked again, was there not some change on 
the face? Had not that dull, expressionless 
surface taken on a faint, scarcely perceptible 
expression which it was difficult to interpret? it 
might be that of happiness, or of a dull despair 
or resignation. 

Suddenly there came over him some mystical 
sort of sense of the world being filled with things 
too great for speech, and which would make all 
speech thereafter impossible. He bent over the 
prostrate woman again and put a little aside the 
heavy mass of her hair from the cheek on which 
it had fallen. Did he dream? Or did that 
cheek nestle, with a small, slight, barely per- 
ceptible movement, against his hand? 

The man of the Campagna came back at that 
moment with a pitcher of water, a flask of red 
wine, and a very thick, greenish glass. 

“Here, signor!” he cried, in his high-pitched, 
somewhat nasal voice. . 

Lena’s eyes opened at last. The moment she 
saw her unfastened dress she turned scarlet and 
turned herself away, trying with great difficulty 
tp button it up again. She managed to do it at 
last, and then felt at her neck for something ; it 
was evidently the pin that she wanted. Werner 
handed it to her, and then touched her sleeve 
quite shyly. 

“Lena, please don’t be angry with your old 
friend! He was in such alarm, didn’t know 
whether you were dead or alive, and hardly 
knew what he was doing.” 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


157 


Instead of answering, she blushed and averted 
her face. She tried to do up her hair, but she 
was so overcome by giddiness that she clutched 
at the grass with both hands, as though to pre- 
vent herself from falling, though she had not yet 
been able to rise from it. Her eyes were opened 
wide, and she stared at the distance like one dis- 
traught. 

Forgetting everything in his anxiety and ter- 
ror, Werner stretched out his arm to support 
her. She pushed it away with all the little 
strength she had. 

“How do you feel, Lena? oh, how do you 
feel?” 

“Wretchedly, indeed!” said she, with a short 
groan. 

He carefully rinsed out the green glass that 
the Campagnard had brought, and then poured 
some of the dry red wine into it and held it to 
Lena’s lips. “Pray, pray be good, Lena! Do 
try to get a few drops down,” he entreated. 

She exerted herself to drink a little, and then 
leaned back again, stretched her full length on 
the grass, covered her eyes with her hands, and 
lay motionless for a considerable time. 

The groom came up at a trot with the runa- 
way horse. He had had to go a long way. The 
slender, delicately-formed creature was covered 
all over with foam ; the whites of its eyes were 
displayed, and they were gleaming with strange 
fire. And it was trembling all over, as though 
it were heartily ashamed of itself and expected 
punishment. Lena took her hands from her eyes, 


158 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


and looked up with a blank expression, as though 
the whole scene had nothing to do with her. * 

“Lena, do you think you could manage to sit 
the horse and ride quite slowly to the nearest 
village, where we can get a carriage for you?” 
Werner asked. 

“I can perfectly well ride home, without more 
ado,” she replied, as though speaking to some 
one standing at some distance behind him, and 
with the same terrible stare into distance and 
vacancy. 

But when he tried to lift her onto the horse, 
she motioned him aside. “Green will put me 
up,” she said. 

The feeling that he was enveloped in some 
strange, weird happiness, for which there was 
neither measure nor word— that feeling which 
had come over him when he felt Lena’s cheek 
give that slight movement in his hand — was 
still strong upon him. It seemed, for the mo- 
ment, to exclude every other sentiment. 

Partty at a walk, and now and then cantering 
gently, with Werner quite close to her on one 
side, and the groom on the other, they managed 
to get over the ground between them and the 
villa. 

When they stopped at the marble steps at the 
front door, Werner went up to her with a swift 
movement before the groom was ready, and, tak- 
ing Lena by the waist, as though she were a lit- 
tle child, lifted her down from the saddle. 

“Is it better with you now, Lena?” he asked, 
in a low voice. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


159 


“Better?” She gave a quick, impatient move- 
ment with her shoulders. “Better with me ? 
Why, what thing can be even so much as good 
to me, except death? I wish I was dead!” 

He took her hand in his. “Oh, don’t think of 
anything so horrible as death!” he said, in very 
low tones. “Don’t think of anything except how 
glorious life may be yet, nay, how glorious it 
must be made yet!” 

She made him no answer, but hurried past 
him with tottering footsteps into the house. 

Some hours had passed since their return from 
the Campagna. The morning had not kept its 
promise to the day, but had degenerated into a 
dull, sultry, desolating afternoon. 

The golden hues in the air had left it alto- 
gether, and it was now one uniform, gray mass 
of cloud. It was more like a thick, heavy wall 
than air, barring out all sight of the upper sky. 
The day advanced toward its close; and, as the 
minutes went on, Werner became more and more 
anxious and uneasy. 

If he could only make out what had been and 
what was going on in that strange soul of hers. 
Had she been merely passive, helpless, when he 
gave her that caress? Had she merely endured 
it by reason of the weakness which made any 
demonstration either of acceptance or resistance 
impossible? But there was that expression of 
deep, sad, despairing happiness which had come 
over the sweet face. About that there could be 
no manner of doubt. That had been there; 


160 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


and what was its meaning? Had he been in 
a dream altogether? And, when he knocked 
next at her door, would she send out a message 
bidding him begone? Or — 

This uncertainty was more than he could 
endure. Come what might, he must go to the 
villa to inquire about her. So much as that was, 
at least, his duty. 

He hastened down from his room, got into the 
first cab he could find, and told the man to drive 
him to the Villa Brancaleone. 

A carriage was there before him, standing at 
the circular porch. Werner recognized the over- 
coat that was lying in it as Enzendorff’s. 

He frowned angrily. Not, indeed, that Enzen- 
dorff’s presence there gave him any special anx- 
iety. The gossip about Lena and the prince, 
which he had heard forty-eight hours earlier 
at Lena’s reception, had already passed wholly 
away from his mind. It was vexatious to him 
that any person whatever should be with Lena 
just at that moment, as he felt so pressing a de- 
sire to see her, if only for a few moments, alone. 

“Have the goodness to announce me to the 
countess,” he cried to the man-servant who was 
standing on the steps of the front door. 

The man disappeared. In a very short time 
he returned with the answer: “Her excellency 
does not feel quite well ; her excellency cannot 
receive to-day.” 

He felt as if he had been struck by a thunder- 
bolt. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


161 


CHAPTER XXXIX. 

All sorts of things had been happening at 
Berlin in these last weeks. Linden had been 
slouching around, here and there— if such a 
word can be used of so good a soldier — as though 
he were moonstruck. He had turned up at Elsa’s 
three or four times a week at least, to get a little 
consolation and some news of Lena, if possible, 
and relieve himself a little from his cares in a 
chat with his old friend. But he came away 
without much consolation, poor fellow; and, as 
for news of Lena, he drew a blank altogether. 

For some time, in fact, very little information 
of her doings had come to them at Berlin, either 
directly or indirectly. She wrote very little her- 
self ; and Werner’s letters, which grew gradually 
briefer and briefer, referred to her only in an 
incidental and rather irritating way. “Fed at 
Lena’s; large dinner-party.” Or, “Yesterday an 
excursion to Tivoli ; quite a nice little party of 
so and so.” He would give all the names of 
those who had been present on the occasion, 
Lena’s included ; but he never entered into any 
details about her. 

He frequently mentioned Enzendorff ’s name. 
Linden was a good deal disturbed at this, Else 
not. Quite a different sort of anxiety had begun 
to gnaw at that innocent young heart. She had 
trouble of her own, and could not find time to 
worry over Linden’s woes. Her cheeks had 


162 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


paled and sunken quite notably since that April 
evening, when she gave Werner that fond kiss 
and slap and pushed him out on to the stairs, 
and out into the world — big, heartless place ! — to 
dash about a little hither and thither, and then 
return to her with renewed spirits and tone, a 
happier and more cheerful being than when he 
left her. 

She had for some time begun to entertain sad 
and serious, doubts about the success of the ex- 
periment. All the letters he had written her 
since his departure were in one drawer of her 
writing-table reserved for them. There were not 
so many of them but that she could easily read 
them through every day, beginning with that 
first long, rambling, affectionate letter from 
Munich, with its many carelessly happy repeti- 
tions of the same thing, and its longings for 
home and wife and children ; and ending with 
that last postcard from Rome, with its laconic 
sentences, cut off sharp as with a knife’s edge. 

There was no getting over the truth. The 
longer he was away from her, the shorter his 
letters became. The more experiences he had to 
write about the less he did write. 

Four days had now passed since she had had 
a word from him. She would have been in dread- 
ful anxiety about him if she had not known that 
Lena was in Rome. But she reasoned thus : “If 
anything had happened to him, if he had fallen 
ill, Lena would have been sure to write to me. 
Why, Lena did write to me at once when he 
sprained his hand. No ; the reason why he does 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


163 


not write is that he does not care to!” This was 
the melancholy decision at which she arrived, 
while she was listening with all her ears for 
the postman’s knock; it was about time for the 
delivery. 

The postman was there. But no letter from 
Werner again. Perhaps in the afternoon. She 
wiped the tears from her eyes; she took the 
whole batch of Werner’s Italian letters from the 
repository in which she treasured them, read 
them all through, from the first line to the last, 
and put them back again. 

The windows of her room were wide open ; the 
bright May sun came in all its force through 
them from over the tops of the big chestnut- 
trees, now in the fullness of their red and white 
flowers. The view from the room was into the 
garden, where the children were playing. Their 
little voices were plainly heard in the room 
where their mother was sitting. 

All of a sudden Else burst into a fit of con- 
vulsive sobbing. 

Her thoughts took in a long range of times 
and things, and dwelt upon that first period of 
their wedded life, those first six months in Ber- 
lin. It was one long, honeymoon to her; each 
seemed equally in love with the other all the 
time ; but she could not forget how insupporta- 
ble the big, strange city had been to her, even 
with all her married happiness. But, in spite 
of her vivid recollection of that weariness with 
the city, her thoughts now recurred with insup- 
portable anguish and longing to those earliest 


164 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


months. What would she not give if she could 
but make a fresh start once more in that pretty, 
modest dwelling of theirs in Dorothea Street. 

She had thought him just a trifle reserved and 
moody then; but now, when she looked back! 
He was quite a different man then from what 
he had now become ; what a different man ! His 
noble, chivalric views of life, his idealism in the 
moral and intellectual regions of action and 
speculations ; his enthusiastic and constant in- 
terest in everything that was beautiful and noble ; 
the childlike seriousness with which he took 
everything ; his affecting purity and tenderness 
— all these things came back into her memory so 
clearly and sadly now. She saw his face dis- 
tinctly again, and the strange expression it wore 
when he was sitting by her, at that concert 
where they heard Schumann’s ‘•Faust.” She 
remembered only too well how irritated she had 
been with him for his high-flown enthusiasm, 
which took hifn up into regions where she could 
not follow him. She remembered what an angry 
feeling it had caused her to witness that sort of 
superior craze, as she called it to herself; and 
how she had offered him that chocolate to sober 
him a little, and bring him back to the solid 
earth again. That was the beginning of it. 
And she had done that sort of thing systemati- 
cally from that moment. Every day she had 
pulled him down a little lower and lower to the 
ground, and weaned him more and more from 
what did not suit her own tastes and disposition. 
And the more he became a steady, jog-trot, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


1«5 


everyday sort of person, the more he played with 
her as if they were a couple of children together, 
the better she was pleased. And so — and so — ! 

"WTiat would she not give now if she could re- 
make him to be what he once was : that ardent, 
unreasoning creature, irrational creature, if you 
will, but one who recoiled with a sort of rage 
from everything that could stain, from every- 
thing that was not absolutely true and straight- 
forward. 

“Oh! may God pardon me for the wrong I’ve 
done him, for the harm I’ve done him !” she ex- 
claimed; and then she added: “But why did he 
give me up in such a hurry? Why didn’t he stick 
to v/hat he began? I am sure that I would have 
tried to learn everything if I had felt that he 
wanted me quite seriously to do so; perhaps I 
might even have become enthusiastic over the 
second part of ( Faust’ ! ” She laughed a little 
through her tears. “But, as far as I could see, 
he did not seem to care much about the matter, 
one way or another. In fact, he didn’t seem to 
care much about anything. <1 can’t make it out, 
I can’t make it out at all! I’m often tempted 
almost to fancy that he never really cared for 
me; but that’s a hateful and ugly thought, too 
hateful for anything. Why in the world should 
he have taken me at all? For my money?” 

Her brows contracted, and she burst again 
into angry tears. She took up a photograph 
which was on her writing-table, a photograph of 
Werner as lieutenant, in his uniform; a sitting 
figure, with his saber between his knees, tall, 


166 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


lean, with deep, serious eyes and a playful ex- 
pression about the mouth. 

No, no! That Werner had no more idea of 
what money and personal advantage meant than 
a child ! She kissed the little picture passion- 
ately, again and again. She remembered the 
awkward way in which he used to try to adapt 
himself to the unfamiliar conveniences and com- 
forts which a wealthy marriage brought with it ; 
how difficult it had been for his Spartan temper- 
ament to conform itself to even those elementary 
luxuries which everybody in their position re- 
garded as necessaries ; how he used to suggest 
all sorts of uncomfortable things to her which 
were easily to be obviated by the expenditure of 
a few pence ; how utterly a matter of indifference 
to him it was whether he had five flights of 
stairs to mount to his dwelling, or one; or 
whether it was truffle;: or potatoes that were put 
on his plate ! 

It was altogether her doing, if he had learned 
to lose his temper a little when dinner was five 
minutes behind time, or if a badly cooked fish 
was brought to table. It was she had taught 
him that, little by little, with those small arts of 
hers. 

Was there ever a creature so unpretending, so 
easily satisfied? And she had done her best to 
turn him into a discontented sybarite. 

Her tears came faster and faster. Light came 
into her soul, inexorable light, searching out 
places in which, before, there had been no illumi- 
nation at all. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 167 

Easily satisfied then ! Scarcely to be satisfied 
with anything now! Alas, was she forced to 
take that view? It was sadly certain that, in 
regard to all the deepest and most serious inter- 
ests of life, his attitude was now that of the rich 
man’s acquiescence rather than the aspiring 
man’s discontent. As to his material welfare, 
in his earlier phase, to that he had been heartily 
indifferent ; but he had been very exacting in bis 
demands upon God to do much for His creatures, 
and upon His creatures to do much for God. In 
regard to all work of that higher Lind, his aims 
were high, and his appetite insatiab , oven as 
the thirst for holiness in the saints can never, 
and never ought to be, quenched. 

And now, was there anything left that he 
really did reverence? was there anything in 
which he could be really said to believe? 

Ah, yes! She saw him before her quite 
clearly ; saw him as he once had been, and now 
was ; and the sight sent a shudder through her. 
There had been nobody like him then ; now he 
was scarcely distinguishable from anybody else. 
Perhaps he was a little handsomer, a little more 
distinguished, a little more amiable; but, as to 
all the rest of it, only like everybody else ! The 
poor girl felt for a moment, now and then, while 
these bitter thoughts were going through her, as 
though she would like to destroy him altogether, 
in sheer despair at having made him what he 
was now. Only — and the thought was comfort 
in the midst of her desolation — she felt in her 
heart of hearts that the Werner of the early 


168 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


years was, radically, the same W erner still ; the 
same Werner whom she had so passionately 
loved, still did so passionately love, and who, 
after all was said, deserved her love just as 
much as ever. 

Oh,, if he would but return to her ! She would 
try and begin life with him over again, honestly 
try- she knew, successfully try she believed. 
Alas, alas ! If he only would come back to his 
home, his children, and to her ! 

She put Werner’s photograph back into its 
place, dried her eyes, and made up her mind to 
go out fc~ a walk, and a few calls, to relieve her 
mind a Title. She rang for her maid, put on 
her hat, drew on her gloves, and went down into 
the garden to say good-by to the children. She 
never, by any chance, left the house without 
doing that. 

The garden was filled with bright sunshine 
and black shadows. The magnolias on the lawns 
were in full flower ; Miss Miller was seated on a 
green bench under a chestnut- tree knitting some- 
thing in stout, red wool ; Rodi and Dinchen were 
playing at a sandy spot, making a sand heap, 
which was to represent a garden, and sticking 
flowers all over it. Little Lizzie was standing 
near them, with her little legs wide apart and her 
tiny hands on her hips, inspecting the progress of 
the work. Something in the way the little thing 
carried her head, something in her dark eyes, 
reminded Else of the child’s father, “as he had 
been.” Else lifted the little girl in her arms and 
kissed her. And then the other children ran 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


169 


from their play and came up to hang on the little 
mother, that was always so delightful to them, 
and Else had enough to do to find kisses and 
caresses for them all. And she had at last, in 
the midst of her laughter, almost to tear herself 
away by force from the dear little wretches. 

“I see that everybody hasn’t lost the knack 
of being fond of me!” she thought, in a sort of 
naif desperation, as she passed through her house 
and got out into the Leipzig Place. “Why is it 
so difficult for him? Why? Oh, what nonsense 
it all is! Sheer hypochondriac nonsense! It’s 
the city air. I never can stand it in summer — 
and then — there’s no getting over the fact — I 
want him badly — I don’t know what to do with 
myself, I want him so badly!” 

She turned into Bellevue Street. 

From the direction of the Column of Victory 
there came flowing down the street a sort of riv- 
ulet of fine dust, shimmering red. The golden 
light made the reddish- white flower masses of 
the horse-chestnuts shine out like torches from 
the rich confusion of the green leaves in which 
they were set. 

Every garden about was full abloom with 
flowers. She rang at the door of the house 
where the Sydows now lived, with old Countess 
Lenzdorff, and went up to their apartments, on 
the second floor, and asked the man-servant who 
opened the door for her if Mme. von Sydow was 
receiving visitors that day. 

The man-servant — it was Goswyn’s orderly 


170 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


who opened the door; he usually came to help 
when the regular servant was away — scratched 
himself behind his thick red ear with his thick 
red hand, and answered: “Well, she’s not. re- 
ceiving everybody who comes along.” 

In her everyday frame of mind, Else would 
have only laughed heartily at this remarkable 
answer ; but she was very sensitive to everything 
just now, and the rough speech vexed her. So 
she merely handed the awkward fellow her visit- 
ing card, bent double, and went her way. She 
had hardly reached the first landing when she 
heard male footsteps and rattling spurs hurrying 
after her. It was Goswyn Sydow, who had run 
down to “cut her off,” as he expressed it. 

He held out his arm for her with a laugh, and 
led her in to Erica, who had left her bedroom by 
this time, but had not yet gone out of doors. 
She was lying on a sofa in her boudoir, which 
was furnished with an agreeable light cretonne ; 
she had on a white morning- dress, and she 
looked, as most very young mothers do after 
their first, as if she had not yet quite grown up 
to the stature of wifehood and womanhood. Her 
pale, tender face had that innocent, virginal ex- 
pression, suggestive of things above humanity, 
which is seen on the faces of the finest Madon- 
nas of art. 

The Erica of earlier days was quite gone; 
gone altogether that queer, naif, old-fashioned, 
primitive and premature maturity of looking and 
talking about things which had had such a flavor 
of irreverence. Life was all sacredness and mir- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


lfl 

acle to her now ; and she was only a shy and 
simple worshiper at its shrine. 

If Goswyn had not interposed very decidedly 
and energetically she would have jumped up 
and rushed at Else. As it was, she had to con- 
tent herself with sitting up and holding out her 
arms to her cousin. 

“How sweet of you to come! But what an 
idea to put me off with a card!” 

“Oh, well! I asked that big fat fellow who 
opened the door whether you were receiving; 
and he answered me, with an eloquent scowl, 
‘Not everybody who comes along,’ and I felt 
hurt and ran off,” said Else. 

“Why, Else! Now just listen to what I say; 
you must have been in a horrid humor to take 
amiss a little thing like that ! ’ ’ cried Erica. “It’s 
enough to make one die with laughing — ‘Not 
every one who comes along!’ What do you say 
to that, Goswyn? The blundering booby ! You 
must pull Stulpe’s ears nearly out of their roots 
for him ! I can’t, for the life of me, understand 
how it is you haven’t licked him a little more 
into human shape. He really must be taught 
how to behave himself a little better, as he has 
to take Muller’s place here, now and then.” 

. “I’ll not lose another moment before begin- 
ning his education quite seriously,” said Gos- 
wyn. “Other matters have so occupied me that 
I haven’t been able to do it, so far.” 

“Well, we’ll hold you excused, if that’s so,” 
said Erica. “But please, Goswyn, do let the 
blind down a little lower, the sun is shining 


172 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


right in my eyes. A little more. No, that’s too 
much. Now it’s right. And bring Else the 
gold cup which grandmamma has sent baby for 
a christening present. Charming! isn’t it, Else? 
Now, put it back, Goswyn, and then ring and 
tell them to bring us up something to drink. 
We’re all dying of thirst!” 

“What shall it be, my angel? Tea?” 

“What would you like, Else? Tea, or some- 
thing nice and cold?” 

“I’d rather have something cold,” replied 
Else, who, in truth, did not care a jot what it 
was. She sat there, quite pale, and without 
moving or saying a word, by the side of Erica, 
at the head of the sofa. 

And her heart grew heavier and heavier with 
every minute that passed. 

“Order some orangeade, Goswyn, and let them 
run down and speak to the man-cook about it, 
he makes it so nice,” Erica begged him. 

Goswyn ordered the orangeade, and then 
walked up to his young wife with very long, 
solemn and slow steps, and asked with a smile : 
“Any more orders to give, madame?” 

“No, not just this moment,” she replied, and 
looked up at his face, through her half-closed 
eyes, with an expression of happy love ; then she 
held out both hands to him. “Now, you must 
be as nice as you possibly can, and come and sit 
down by me ; but give me a kiss first, old man, 
if you’re not ashamed before Else.” 

“Oh! Else will overlook the offense, taking 
all the circumstances, of the case into consider- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


173 


ation, I’m sure,” he said, good-humoredly, lift- 
ing his young wife up a little from her pillows, 
and giving her a hearty kiss. Then he sat down 
by her side at the sofa. Erica took hold of one 
of his hands and stroked it gently. 

“Oh! you dear, good, patient love!” she mur- 
mured, and — turning to Else: “You have no 
idea of what he puts up with from me — just 
now, I mean. Before then he held the reins 
rather tight, I can’t deny it. He was always 
kind and indulgent. But never before, since 
we’ve been man and wife, has he so lapped me 
in tenderness of every kind as lately; I’ve never 
experienced anything like it before myself, and 
I don’t believe anybody else ever can have. I 
suppose that tight hand was good for me, per- 
haps it was even necessary. Poor, dear Goswyn ! 
Now, there’s nothing he wouldn’t do for me or 
put up with in me. And, look here, Else, it’s 
fun to me sometimes to let him feel my little bit 
of power and send him trotting about for one 
thing after another for me ; and then — when he 
takes it like a lamb and so magnanimously over- 
looks my little naughty ways, why — ” Her 
eyes suddenly filled with tears, she brought his 
hand to her lips and kissed it with an air of 
humility. 

“Oh, you silly little lady !” Goswyn cried, try- 
ing to prevent her. “I see that I shall have to 
begin my education over again, just where I left 
off ! You’re still a little too highly wrought and 
intense. I was in hopes that what you’ve gone 
through lately had quieted you down a bit!” 


174 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


Then they both laughed; but Else did not 
laugh, she was much nearer crying. She bent 
over a big wreath of white lilies that was in a 
tall crystal vase, in order to hide her troubled 
little face. 

She was ashamed of her own poverty in the 
regions of affection and love, in the presence of 
these two, so rich in them. Her thoughts went 
back to review the past, to seek the sweetness 
which the present was so cruelly denying her. 
In vain ! Look where she would in the history 
of her marriage, even when it was at its best 
and ten derest, there had been some feeling of a 
something wanting. She could not blind herself 
to the fact, not now when all scales were begin- 
ning to fall from her eyes. 

“The lilies are lovely, are they not? It was 
Goswyn gave them me,” Erica went on.. “Say, 
did your husband spoil you, at these times, as 
my old man does me?” 

Else drew herself together with a little shiver ; 
and Goswyn, who had more sensitive perception 
of what was going on in other people’s minds 
than his wife — as is not infrequent with married 
couples — cried hastily : “Why, Erica, dear, there 
can be no need of such a question as that ; it can 
have but one answer. Of course he did!” 

Else, however, felt it to be her duty to make 
some reply to the question, as it had been put. 

“When Rodi came into the world, ” she de- 
clared, “I came as near dying as a woman well 
can; and, on that occasion, he nursed me so 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


175 


tenderly that it was quite affecting ; hut in the 
case of the others, why they came so quickly, 
one after another, that the matter didn’t make 
any particular impression on him ; probably it 
seemed so frightfully commonplace. Besides, he 
is one of those who find it very difficult to show 
what they feel. You’ve got to find out for your- 
self what’s going on in him. But, although he 
does not say much about it, I know him well, 
chapter and verse; and I know how anxious he 
is when anything is the matter with any one of 
us. There’s nobody living who has a warmer 
heart than my husband. Indeed, I don’t believe 
there’s anybody like him, for that matter. If 
he ever does happen to hurt anybody’s feelings, 
or thinks he has, he’s like a crazy creature!” 

“That’s really so,” said Goswyn, in positive 
tones; “that’s Werner all over; and surely I 
ought to know, for we’ve been chums, more or 
less, ever since we were little toddlers together; 
and that’s a good deal longer than either of you 
ladies have known him. And I can tell you that 
he is a person of wonderfully rich endowments 
and gifts for everything except the things of 
practical life.” 

Else’s eyes hung on his face as he said this, 
and they burned with feverish light. Those 
eyes hurt Goswyn a little ; their expression was 
so strange, as they seemed actually to drink in 
the praises he lavished on her husband. 

“Officers who have served with him,” said 
Erica, “declare that he was always regarded as 
one of the most capable among them. What a 


176 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


pity it is that he doesn’t follow any profession, 
and hasn’t anything to occupy him!” 

Else turned scarlet, and Goswyn struck in: 
“ That’s not the sort of thing which can be pro- 
nounced upon in such a summary manner, my 
dear child. There are some natures that posi- 
tively cannot swim in stagnant water. There 
must be movement, excitement to bring them 
out. He’ll be elected to Parliament, sooner or 
later, I’m quite sure; and then you’ll see how 
he’ll develop!” 

Again he met that look of Else’s, that sad, 
craving look, so moving in its gratitude. 

“That’s what I hope myself,” she sighed. 
“Unfortunately, we shall have to wait some 
years before that is likely to happen.” 

Else was just thinking, at that moment, of 
saying good-by to Erica, when in marched old 
Countess Lenzdorff, as straight as a fir-tree, 
positively handsome in spite of her seventy- five 
years ; and as fresh as ever in spite of her gray 
hairs; a woman of women, who now enjoyed 
life, in old age, as much as she had done in 
youth ; and had always been, in youth and age, 
as ready to face death as if life had never been 
of any value to her at all. 

“How are my spoiled children getting on?” 
she cried, as she stood for a moment on the 
threshold. She seemed to launch her fine spirits 
and humor into the room before she came in her- 
self. “And how’s all the family? It is a fam- 
ily, now, reckoning the small new arrival. Oh, 
what a charming little visitor we’ve got! But 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


177 


haven’t we been exciting ourselves a little too 
much?” 

“No, no; we’ve been as good as gold!” Gos- 
wyn assured her, with a laugh. “Besides, the 
police has been very much on the alert, and the 
police will stand no joking, and that always 
helps when there’s any tendency to break out.” 

“Is that so? Well, then, I’m satisfied,” the 
old countess declared. — “And how are things 
going with you?” She turned to Else. 

“Oh, splendidly!” the latter replied. 

“Good news of your husband?” 

“Oh, yes; very good. He seems to be amus- 
ing himself famously in Rome,” said Else, as 
decidedly as she could. 

“Is that so? Hasn’t he got away from Rome 
yet? They say it’s appallingly hot there,” the 
old lady replied, rather dryly, “and, as I hear, 
the fever’s raging too.” 

“Oh, I say, grandmamma, don’t you make 
Else anxious about nothing!” struck in Goswyn, 
whose mission it seemed just then to parry the 
chance hits of his rather inconsiderate woman- 
kind. “All these epidemics are always very 
much worse on paper than in reality — I mean 
when one’s in the place itself. And Werner’s 
not the man to be upset by the dying of a few 
people, more or less, unless they happen to be 
people he’s fond of. If the house were burning 
down over his head, and he was busied with 
something mental, the fire would escape his no- 
tice altogether — unless, indeed, somebody in the 
flames were to cry out for assistance. And then 


178 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


he’d have all his presence of mind with a ven- 
geance!” 

“Well, if you’ll be advised by me, Else, you’ll 
cry out for assistance, just as soon as you possi- 
bly can, ” observed Countess Lenzdorff. “I’m 
afraid the house is on fire!” 

“Your anxieties are quite superfluous,” re- 
plied Else, a little offended, as she always was 
when anybody ventured to say anything that 
sounded at all depreciatory of her husband. 
“Werner will be here now in a very few days; 
he’s only waiting for a fete that’s to be given by 
Prince Mariani. He’s in excellent spirits, and 
in the greatest enthusiasm about all the beauti- 
ful things; and I’m sure I don’t want to do any- 
thing to cut his stay short that isn’t quite neces- 
sary. I am only too delighted at his having his 
fill of enjoyment. There isn’t so much to amuse 
him here, I’m sure. If there were anything 
particularly to be feared for anybody staying in 
Rome, just now, I’m perfectly certain Lena 
would have written to me about it.” 

“Is Lena in Rome?” asked Countess Lenz- 
dorff. “I didn’t know that at all. Now I 

understand what brings Enzendorff there.” 

“Enzendorff?” repeated Erica. 

And Goswyn said, with an air of reflection: 
“Perhaps she’ll get up with the stakes from that 
game yet ! I should have to take off my hat and 
bow very low to the Princess Enzendorff in that 
case.” 

“Why, Rome seems to have become quite a 
branch establishment of Berlin business!” ex- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


179 


claimed Erica. “The Orbanoffs are there, too; 
I heard that from your cousin Thilda, Goswyn ; 
she corresponds with the princess. Aren’t you 
a little jealous of the lovely Ilka, Else?” 

“No, indeed; why should I?” flamed up 
Else. 

“Why should she, indeed?” cried Goswyn, 
who didn’t at all like the turn the conversation 
had taken. “Werner never did more than just 
amuse himself a little with that Croatian wo- 
man, not a particle more. He didn’t take the 
thing seriously.” 

“But the ‘Croatian woman’ did,” murmured 
Countess Lenzdorff, “very seriously.” 

A deep furrow showed itself between Else’s 
eyebrows; she rose: “I really can’t stay longer 
with you, Erica,” she observed. “But there is 
one thing we really mustn’t overlook. Mayn’t 
I have just one glance at baby before I go?” 

“Baby’s asleep,” Erica explained. “Why, I 
should have had him brought to you at once, 
darling, if he hadn’t been asleep. But if you’re 
bent on seeing him, Goswyn will take you to 
the nursery. The little fellow is pounds and 
pounds heavier since you were here last, and so 
sweet that one wants to eat him. And he has 
a regular grown-up smile. I can’t for the life 
of me understand why people will keep saying 
that little things of that age are not pretty. My 
boy is quite charming, I know,” said Erica, 
with conviction. 

Goswyn led Else through the dressing-room 


180 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


which adjoined Erica’s boudoir, and then 
through the bedroom which opened on to the 
nursery. 

She stepped up Very quietly to the cradle, with 
its covering of green silk and its veil of lace 
over the child. She lifted a corner of the lace 
very gently and had a good look at the rosy 
something which was lying on the richly em- 
broidered pillow. Erica was perfectly right. 
The little fellow was “too sweet for anything,,” 
and as pretty as a baby four weeks old has it in 
him to be. 

He was fast asleep, snuggling on one of his 
little fists. The little breast was rising and 
falling with a regular movement, and the little 
countenance wore a deeply serious and earnest 
expression. 

“To think that a bit of a thing like that grows 
up to be a man!” said Goswyn, who, like so 
many young fathers, did his best to cover up his 
emotion by joking about it. “ And what seri- 
ous faces he makes, asleep and awake, the little 
morsel of a scamp! The whole affair isn’t big- 
ger than my hand !” 

“I’m pretty sure that he’ll take after his father 
very strongly,” said Else. “And I can wish 
nothing better for him in this world!” Then 
she bent over the cradle, touched one of the little 
red fists lightly with her lips, drew the veil 
carefully again over the little wight’s face, said 
a few words to the nurse, who was standing 
there, huge satisfaction depicted upon her big, 
flat, smiling face — most nurses have faces of 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


181 


that sort — about her little charge; and then she 
went away, Goswyn accompanying her. 

The bedroom which she had to go through to 
get back to the boudoir was a rather long room 
and its carpet was very thick and soft. The 
door of the boudoir was wide open; and old 
Countess LenzdorfPs voice was, at this stage of 
her career, very often raised to a quite unneces- 
sarily high pitch. Else's ears could not avoid 
being aware at once that Erica and her grand- 
mother were engaged in pretty lively debate 
about . something or other ; and these words of 
the old woman came to her in all their pitiless 
force. 

< ‘ Of course, he might have made a great deal 
more out of her!” the old lady was exclaiming. 
“But he never had the key to her character in 
his hands at all, never for one moment ! And 
what can you expect? The long and the short 
of it is that he never really cared for her at all, 
not a bit!” 

Else recoiled with an involuntary shudder. Of 
whom could they possibly be speaking? 

“Grandmother is going on again, in her wild 
way, about the misfortunes of Lena Edelfeldt,” 
said Goswyn, with astonishing presence of 
mind. “She has scarcely been able to think or 
talk about anything else these last fourteen days. ’ ’ 

Else looked up at him with the grateful look 
he had had more than once that day from her 
anxious eyes, and the look had an even added 
intensity now. 

“Poor Lena Edelfeldt!” she murmured. 


182 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


4 ‘Horrible! To be married to a man who never 
really cared for you ! Horrible ! The bare 
thought of it is enough to kill a woman ! Hor- 
rible, Goswyn! Pray, pray show me out by 
some other wa y, where I needn’t pass Countess 
Lenzdorff again. I’d rather not go through the 
process of saying good-by over again. It does 
make such a fuss!” 

“Else, I’m afraid you’re not quite well,” said 
Goswyn, taking the young woman out by a side 
door from the bedroom, as she wished. “Shall 
I get you a glass of water?” 

“No, no!” Else replied, hurriedly. “I must 
make haste home. The children will think I’m 
lost altogether; they’ll be expecting me back to 
tea.” 

“Well, then, pray allow me to go with you, 
Else. Just let me have half- a minute to put on 
my sword. I can’t bear the idea of your going 
alone in this dreadful heat, with that pale face 
of yours. If your mistress asks for me, Stulpe, 
tell her that I shall return directly, that I’ve gone 
to see Madame von Schlitzing home.” This to 
the servant, in the antechamber. 

Then he hastened downstairs with Else to the 
Bellevue Street. 

The good fellow was quite overcome with com- 
passion for his little friend ; so much so that he 
could not speak a word. The two went along in 
complete silence, and Goswyn gave Else a side- 
glance with some alarm in it, now and then. 

He accompanied her as far as the entrance of 
the garden, where the children were still at their 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


183 


play. The little voices were audible to them 
amid the rustling of the trees, at the entrance, 
and he stopped there. He knew she was safe 
now. 4 4 Adieu, Else!” said he, taking her little 
hand in his big one. 

44 Adieu!” she murmured, almost inaudibly. 
44 1 thank you very much, Goswyn!” 

44 1 should very much like to know what for?” 
he asked, stopping suddenly. He had half 
turned to go. 

4 4 Because — because — well, because you’re the 
only one of all cf them who didn’t say or do 
Something to hurt me, to-day!” 

He kissed her hand again, and left her. “The 
Lord defend us from those too clever women, 
especially when they’re old and deaf,” he mur- 
mured, letting his saber rattle along the ground 
as he went; he was much too angry to take no- 
tice of it. “It’s the biggest mistake, I think, 
to let a creature of that sex come into the world 
with more than a moderate share of intelligence ; 
they never can make a safe and reasonable use 
of it. You might just as well give a child dyn- 
amite to play with!” 

Goswyn had never forgiven grandmamma, 
never would forgive her quite, for having, with 
that brilliant intelligence of hers, driven Erica 
to the very verge of the abyss. 




8 


8 


184 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


CHAPTER XL. 

Else did not go forward to the children, but 
remained sitting on a bench close to the entrance 
of the garden. 

“He really doesn’t care for her!” she kept 
murmuring to herself; “he really doesn’t care 
for her at all!” 

She knew only too well what wife it was they 
were really discussing, although she had pre- 
tended to believe Goswyn’s well-meant false- 
hood; or, rather, his bold attempt to interpret 
the words as applying to another. She was filled 
with grief and anger ; but not a particle of the 
latter feeling was directed against Werner. 

All women who love intensely rather than 
passionately, at the center rather than the peri- 
phery of their being — and that is the same thing 
as loving unselfishly — are always prone to at- 
tribute any failure in their married relations to 
themselves rather than the man. Else was pre- 
eminently a woman of that type, and it was 
herself only for whom she had any reproach 
now. She could not see that she had anything 
to accuse Werner of. He had never shown her 
anything but kindness, gentleness, tenderness. 
And if he had never really loved her ; if his feel- 
ing for her had never really been what they call 
love, whatever that was in a man, it must be 
because of some deficiency in herself, she told 
herself sadly. And then her thoughts went on : 
“Perhaps that feeling is not absolutely necessary 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


185 


to wedded happiness. Lena has so often said, 
‘ Love is the supreme luxury of life ! It’s not 
everybody who has a right to lay any claim to 
such a thing. One must learn to do without it!’ 
Ah, Lena ! Lena ! if only I had you here with 
me now ! When you were with me, often enough 
did you make me impatient with you. And now 
I long for you more than words can say. You 
understood us both, and were fond of us. Per- 
haps you could teach me to bring to him what 
he has so far missed in me!” 

The leaves rustled, now loudly, now faintly ; a 
few bees were humming about a jasmine-tree 
close by, bees with golden bodies and transpar- 
ent wings flashing with all the colors of the 
rainbow. 

“Ah! yes, yes, yes! I fear the house is on 
fire!” she went on, murmuring to herself. “It 
seemed almost as though Countess Lenzdorff 
wanted to hint that it was for me she was afraid, 
afraid that Werner’s protracted absence had to 
do with something quite serious for me. There 
can’t be any doubt that what she meant was 
that Werner may have got himself entangled 
with Ilka Orbanoff . God help me ! How can I 
manage to get up anything like a serious feeling 
of jealousy of such a woman as that? It’s sim- 
ply out of the question ! If he remains away so 
long, there can’t be any reason for it except that 
he’s thoroughly enjoying himself there, and can’t 
make up his mind to come back to his old, flat, 
monotonous tenor of life. Or — ” 

Suddenly, with the swiftness of a stroke of 


186 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


lightning, a quite new and terrible thought 
flashed across her innocent soul. And this 
thought operated like a sudden illumination, re- 
vealing a whole unsuspected world to eyes hith- 
erto wrapped in absolute darkness, when looking 
in that direction. And the thought was one that 
seemed almost to cut into the very nerves of life. 
Else uttered a short, sharp cry, and closed both 
eyes, as though to shut out some sight too horri- 
ble for endurance. 

Just then she heard footsteps not far from her 
and the rattling of crockery and knives and 
forks. She looked up. It was the servant bring- 
ing the tea-things. 

“No letters, Braun ?” she asked. 

“Madame, there is a letter for you ; here it is. ’ ’ 

Else seized it. Another disappointment! It 
was a Berlin letter only, and from nobody more 
important than Thilda. Else considered it awhile, 
without opening it, with a sort of contemptuous 
curiosity. The outside of a letter from her sister- 
in-law, for whom she had as little sympathy as 
might be expected, considering the natures of the 
two, was likely to be more acceptable than the 
inside. 

“I wonder what Thilda has got to write to me 
about now?” she asked herself. “I daresay it’s 
to ask whether I’ll make one of some party or 
other to go to the theater. ’ ’ She tore open the 
envelope. 

She read, and could hardly trust her eyes ; she 
read it over again. And, depressed as she was, 
she was almost inclined to. burst into laughter. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


187 


She asked herself whether it was she who was 
crazy, or Thilda? There must be some mistake! 
She read a third time : 

“Dear Else — You will have to forgive me 
for informing you, by letter only, of what is far 
the most important event of my life. My agita- 
tion is so great that I can’t calm down enough 
to come and tell you of it myself. Indeed, you 
might increase it, perhaps ; for it is quite proba- 
ble you may underrate the importance of what 
has happened, and is to happen. And there’s 
nothing that I can stand so little as not being 
sympathized with, especially now. Yesterday I 
affianced myself to Oscar Ryder- Smy the. He 
has managed, at last, to stammer out his con- 
fession of his love for me. Oh, Else! It is 
happiness beyond compare to love and to have 
your love returned, warmly, enthusiastically, 
wildly returned ! How sorry I am for anybody 
who has to go through life without that happi- 
ness ! In rapture, Thy Mathilda. 

“P. B.* — It is far from being a mesalliance; 
although Oscar is an American, he has six kings 
of Scotland among his ancestors.” 

The paper fell from Else’s hands, and she 
stared almost helplessly, as though something 
utterly grotesque was visibly before her. “The 
thing can’t be possible; it can't be possible! She 
must be mad, quite, quite mad! Why, he’s 
twenty years younger than she, if he’s a day. 
It’s nothing short of scandalous!” 

Scandalous or not, there was one good thing 
about it, that it had the effect of rousing Else, 
for a little while, entirely out of all the rest of 
her misery. 


188 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


She remembered, now, with what dissatisfac- 
tion Werner had observed the great intimacy 
between this Smythe and Thilda, and what a 
rage he went into when the report that Thilda 
had paid the young American’s debts came to 
his ears. And now! “The affair now has gone 
much further than, a joke!” she said to herself. 
“Something has to be done, without losing a 
moment’s time, to get the woman’s head twisted 
back into its right place again. The best thing 
would be for me to go to her at once ; perhaps I 
may be able to bring her to her senses. If my 
preaching turns out of no use, I shall write at 
once to my mother-in-law.” 

She determined not to lose an instant, and put 
her hat on again ; it was on the bench by her 
side; and she made for Potsdam Street, where 
Thilda lived. 

Thilda’s dwelling was a pleasant enough place, 
certainly. It consisted of a pavilion, with a 
studio at the back. This studio was in the 
middle of a garden, and it was well protected, 
therefore, from the street noises. It was quite 
an idyllic habitation. A sculptor had built it 
expressly for his own use some time before, a 
gentleman who wanted to enjoy the illusion, at 
all events, of solitude, if he could not the reality, 
in the midst of the big city. And it was now, 
under the ironical dispensation of things, in 
Thilda’s incongruous hands. 

The garden was surrounded by an iron fence 
with a wicket at one point. Else rang the bell, 
and the wicket was opened to admit her imme- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


189 


diately. She went forward with rather hesitat- 
ing steps — not relishing at all the scene which 
she foresaw — up to the little house. It was quite 
low-pitched, a very old-fashioned looking affair, 
with small -paned windows. The maid-servant, 
who came at once to see who it was that had 
rung at the garden-gate, informed her that ma- 
demoiselle was in the studio. Perhaps madame 
would be so good as to go on there instead of 
having her mistress come to her. 

Else assented. The girl hurried before her, 
to open the outer door of the studio for her. Else 
went in. 

Thilda was standing before her easel ; she had 
a sort of emancipated red felt hat upon her 
touzled head, and a blue wrapper round her lean 
form ; her attention was wholly absorbed in her 
work. 

4 ‘Oh, Else!” At first it seemed as though she 
would go up to the young woman and embrace 
her, but she thought better of that immediately. 
This was no moment for ordinary doings ! She 
struck a solemn attitude in the middle of the 
studio, and stood there, without moving a mus- 
cle, leaning on her mahlstick. And then she 
asked, in veiled, tragic tones: “Do you come as 
a friend, or as an enemy?” 

Else hardly knew which way to turn ; but she 
went forward to the crack-pated thing, and said, 
quite gently: “I am here because I am your 
true and sincere friend, who wishes you well, 
God knows ! if anybody does, and has no thought 
except for your welfare.” 


190 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


Thilda, it was quite plain, was quite dissatis- 
fied with this answer. Not departing in the 
least from her solemn attitude, she blinked mis- 
trustfully at Else. “Are you making fun of 
me?” she asked, roughly. 

A slight rustling in the room drew Else’s at- 
tention away from Thilda. She observed some- 
thing moving itself on a sofa in a corner of the 
studio. This was no less a person than Ryder- 
Smythe, uncoiling himself rather quickly from a 
rug under which he appeared to have been de- 
voting himself to a refreshing afternoon nap. 

Engaged persons of his sex, who happen to be 
twenty years younger than their beloved, are 
surely entitled to their little privileges. 

“Beg your pardon!” he cried, seeing that it 
was Else ; and he wore ar face of great perplex- 
ity. “I’m sure you ladies have some confidences 
to interchange, and I would not intrude upon 
you for worlds. ’ ’ And, so saying, he got him- 
self out of the room somehow or other. 

Thilda flung her mahlstick with magnificent 
energy against the wall, folded her arms upon 
her breast, and cried, with a voice of challenge : 
“Now!” 

Else had managed to preserve her countenance, 
more or less, so far. But she felt now that it 
was quite going ; and she could not venture to 
utter a word. 

“Now, then!” repeated Thilda, tapping the 
floor in an impatient and imperious manner with 
the tip of her long foot. “What — have — you — 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


191 


to — say — to — me?” she asked, accentuating each 
syllable in a manner little short of awful. 

‘ 4 That the news of your engagement has quite 
astonished me!” Else declared. 

“ Indeed! I suppose that’s not all, by any 
means?” said Thilda, loftily. “Astonishing, 
indeed, that a girl of good family should boldly 
overstep the lines drawn by the petty and preju- 
diced fraction of society, and marry a young 
artist, a musician of genius, and who can prove 
by documentary evidence his descent from Rob- 
ert Bruce in the bargain! Very astonishing 
that, isn’t it? Yes, about as astonishing as 
everything in this abominable world that is at 
all out of the way, or at all noble, or at all 
beautiful!” 

There was something in the tones of the gro- 
tesque, lean lady so hard, so self-willed, so im- 
measurably irritating, that it seemed to both 
provoke and justify measures as strong as could 
possibly be taken for forcing her ridiculous con- 
ceit back within decent limits. If ever there 
was an indulgent, gentle creature in this world, 
it was Else. And this was more than even she 
could stand. 

“You must excuse me, Thilda, for what I say; 
but the truth is, that I can’t allow any veils over 
the truth, as I’ve got to speak it to you now; 
positively I cannot!” she cried. “I’ve never 
made the slightest allusion to it, because I knew 
it couldn’t be pleasant to you. But I’m perfectly 
well aware of the fact that you are quite ten 


192 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


years older than Werner; and that makes you 
forty-five.” 

Thilda became as pale as a corpse. u Else!” 
she almost shouted. And then, for once, at all 
events, in her life, her habitual fluency failed 
her altogether; she was dumb. 

Else seized the opportunity, and went on ; but 
she was, of course, distressed by Thilda ’s pain- 
ful agitation, and did everything in her power 
to soften the blows she had to inflict upon the 
unfortunate woman. 

“I don’t mean, in the least, that that’s too old 
to marry, dear Thilda,” she said, coaxingly; 
“but it is too old to marry a very young man.” 

“You think so?” said Thilda, defiantly. 

“It is my deep conviction,” said Else, in her 
clear, sincere tones. “If you feel any inclina- 
tion to marry you’ll be able to find plenty of 
chances in your own circles” — Else was not ex- 
actly convinced of this, but she bound herself 
to appear so — “plenty of opportunity, only you 
ought really to give the preference to a man of 
ripe years. ’ ’ 

“Oh, indeed!” hissed Thilda, before Else 
could get further. “Some elderly privy coun- 
cilor, or high official or other. No doubt I 
could.” Thilda was herself quite free from any 
doubt in the matter, if Else was not. It was 
Thilda ’s conviction that she had but to make up 
her mind to marry anybody in society, and the 
victim would be at her feet directly. “Oh! yes, 
indeed! If all I wanted was to be married, 
without more, I might easily enough decide 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


193 


upon the course you so kindly suggest. But 
that’s not what I’m after at all. What I want 
is to love and be loved; to be happy!” 

And, as Else had no reply immediately ready, 
the other went on, with no little spite in her 
voice: “I’m not one of those women who could 
bring herself to live, years in and years out, by 
a man’s side, thrusting upon him endearments 
for which he doesn’t care a pin!” 

All the light left Else’s eyes. But, in her ex- 
tremity, she betrayed no agitation in that studio. 
“To whom are you referring, in particular?” 
she asked, very quietly. 

Thilda closed her mouth firmly, like an ob- 
stinate,- ill-conditioned child, and shrugged her 
shoulders. Then, after a short pause, she said, 
sharply: “Oh, I don’t want to be so unkind to 
other people as they are to me!” 

“Don’t take the trouble of beating about the 
bush. You meant me!” 

Thilda did not say a word. 

“That’s your view, is it? That Werner, when 
he married me, didn’t care for me at all, to 
speak of?” Else now said, going straight to the 
mark. “And, if he didn’t care for me, there 
must have been some reason why he took me, 
and didn’t leave me. What was it? For my 
few wretched pence? You’d better think before 
you reply, Thilda!” 

“Money never was any consideration with us 
Schlitzings !” said Thilda, grandly. 

“Very well! Then what was it?” Else asked 
again. She looked like a changed creature; she 


194 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


looked as if inches had been suddenly added to 
her stature. She was as pale as a corpse, but 
perfectly composed; and there was not a trace 
of tears in her eyes, or a quiver about her mouth 
as she stood, dignified, grave, self-possessed, 
confronting her sister-in-law. 

Thilda shrugged her shoulders. ‘ ‘ Hm ! There 
are men capable of marrying a girl out of com- 
passion, because they see that she’s dying for 
love of them,” she said. 

“Oh, it is that!” exclaimed Else. “And I 
was the dying girl, and he the magnanimous 
man! Will you allow me to ask whether all 
this is pure conjecture on your part, or whether 
he has ever said anything in your presence to 
authorize these suppositions?” 

“Not in my presence,” said Thilda, taking 
care to lay the proper accent of, spite upon the 
important word in that sentence. 

“Oh! not in your presence? And are you 
aware of his ever even having expressed himself 
in that sense in any other person’s presence?” 

“Well, if you’ve made up your mind to know; 
yes, yes, yes, yes!” Thilda hurled the words as 
if they were missiles right in her sister-in-law’s 
face. 

“When and where?” 

“It was at Schlangenbad, on the evening fol- 
lowing our excursion to Rauenthal; you’ve not 
forgotten that excursion, I’m quite sure. Wer- 
ner informed us all rather abruptly, on that occa- 
sion, that he had made up his mind to leave for 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


195 


Italy. And you lost your self-command so that 
you up^et a small pot of cream.” 

Else’s head sank. Thilda was not the woman 
to spare when she had the chance, and she went 
on, pitilessly: 

“That evening, a good deal later, Werner 
came up to my stepmother’s apartments. I was 
sitting writing in the next room. I didn’t listen, 
but I couldn’t help hearing what passed. It was 
no fault of mine if what they had to say to each 
other came to my ears. My stepmother re- 
proached him for thinking of goingoff like that, 
in such a hurry ; and he confessed to her that he 
was going away purely on your account, and 
that she had herself opened his eyes to the fact, 
which he would never have detected for himself, 
that you were in love with him. His mother 
appeared to be doing everything in her power to 
induce him to seek your hand. Money was al- 
ways an immense object with her. And he did 
his best to make her understand that he could 
not bring himself to marry you ; because, though 
you pleased him much — I really don’t want to 
distort his words, or hurt you more than I can 
help — and though he was fully sensible of your 
good qualities, he did not feel so drawn to you 
as he ought to be to the woman he married; so 
drawn that the feeling would render him quite 
safe from all other attractions and influences, if 
he did marry you. Those were his own words, 
as nearly as possible!” 

A pause followed ; a period brief, but that ter- 
rible stillness which precedes the storm. Else 


196 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


stood there, quite still, quite motionless, deathly- 
pale, still self-possessed and dignified. But she 
felt that her strength would not enable her to 
hold out like that much longer. Black clouds 
began to gather before her eyes ; the outlines of 
the furniture in the room began to waver, every 
object seemed to be dissolving into parti-colored 
mists. “ Have you done, or have you anything 
more to add?” she asked, all but inaudibly. 

“My stepmother asked him if his fancy had 
gone in any other direction.” 

“Well?” 

“He answered her evasively. He said that 
he really did not quite know, there had been 
a chance meeting with somebody ; it was not a 
thing that he could put “into any words that he 
knew of. Later I discovered who that other 
was. It was my friend Hka.” 

Leaden silence followed for a short while; 
then Else exclaimed: “Ilka Orbanoff! Impos- 
sible ! That woman never, for a single instant, 
touched the outermost rim of his heart!” 

“That’s your conviction, is it? Your vanity 
and conceit have always kept you far above any 
temptation to jealousy, I suppose!” exclaimed 
Thilda. “But I happen to know that those two 
formed acquaintance before your marriage!” 

“Oh, yes! they met once at Aunt Malve’s; I 
remember perfectly how slightingly he spoke of 
her,” said Else. 

“Indeed! and you fancy, do you, that there 
was nothing in it but a casual meeting at 
Schlangenbad, on a balcony at Aunt Malve’s, do 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


197 


« 

you?” cried Thilda. “You’ve always been able 
to persuade yourself of anything you wanted to, 
like all self-satisfied women. But I can tell you 
that much bigger stakes were played for in that 
affair than you’ve any notion of. They’ve loved 
each other passionately, for years. I had plenty 
of opportunity of observing them, here in my 
studio, when they were hours together. ’ ’ 

“Indeed! And it was the knowledge of that 
which induced you to press Werner so to meet 
the .princess at your place, I suppose?” 

“It seemed to me the most innocent way of 
affording two burdened hearts some little oppor- 
tunity of relief ,” answered Thilda. “Besides, 
I felt I could rely absolutely on my brother’s 
sense of honor. Indeed, it’s only too great ! Ac- 
cording to what I’ve heard lately — ” 

“And what have you heard, pray?” 

“Well, I’ve heard, from a source which I can 
positively rely on, that Werner has written to 
Counselor — Counselor — oh! I don’t remember 
the name, but it’s an early playmate of Werner’s, 
and he lives in Lutzow Street — to ask what are 
the proper steps to be taken to procure a divorce. 
He didn’t ask for himself, he said, but for a 
friend; but, of course, he would say that. I 
don’t think anybody can mistake the meaning 
of that /” And, so, Thilda ended. 

Else had never taken her eyes from her sister- 
in-law’s face, and they were there still ; and very 
serious and severe those eyes were. 

“Your hateful words shook me a little, at 
first, I must confess, Thilda!” she now quietly 


198 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


said; “but your last piece of information has 
quite robbed all you had before said of all its 
weight. I quite know that women like your 
friend, Princess Orbanoff, have the power to 
make men, even some of the best of men, lose 
their heads for a while. But to divorce their 
wives for a person of that kind — oh, no ! That’s 
quite out of the question ! What motive could 
they possibly have? What would they gain? 
There is some great misunderstanding some- 
where. I am convinced that you do Werner 
great injustice.” Then she gave her sister-in- 
law an almost mechanical nod, and turned to go. 
She tottered a little before she reached the door, 
but pulled herself together instantly. 

When she reached the street, she became as 
erect as a candle on an altar ; she held herself, 
indeed, much more upright than usual. It took 
her a good deal longer than usual, too, before she 
got up the flights of stairs that separated her from 
her home. At last she reached her door. She went 
past the servant, who opened it, straight to her 
bedroom, locked herself in, flung herself on the 
bed, and buried her face in the pillows. Anguish 
such as she had never imagined possible had 
taken full possession of her being, anguish more 
like madness than anything else; and all her 
powers of resistance were for the moment para- 
lyzed. A certain suspicion had suddenly come 
upon her, and went circulating through her veins 
like a swift, subtle poison. She felt as if she 
was on fire, and the whole fabric of her inner 
life had fallen into sudden ruin. No ! It was 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


199 


not Ilka ! A man does not seek divorce for the 
sake of that sort of woman ! No, it was some 
other woman ! And who could it be, except one 
— one only — one utterly different from all the 
rest of her sex — 

She searched her memory for confirmation of 
the terrible idea, as unhappy creatures in her 
plight do; and things which had long since 
passed away from it came up again with their 
“confirmation strong.” Werner’s agitation, his 
decided opposition, when the question was dis- 
cussed whether Lena should be invited to his 
wedding. His unmistakable embarrassment 
when he and Lena came together unexpectedly, 
the winter before, at Countess Warsberg’s. 
Lena’s evasive answer when she, Else, asked 
her where and how it was that she and Werner 
had already met and become acquainted? 

“If it is as I fear — if it is as I fear; if it be 
she, she, she! Oh! Almighty God!” 

There was a knock at the door. 

“What is it?” cried Else. 

“A telegram,” answered the maid. Else 
sprang up in wild agitation, and opened the 
paper. 

“Have just engaged myself to Enzendorff. 

“Lena.” 


CHAPTER XLI. 

The fete at the Palazzo Mariani was at its 
height, and the quick measures of the music 


200 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


were heard along the Corso, with the accom- 
paniment — for those nearest on the street — of 
dancing feet and rustling silks. The famous 
thoroughfare was lit up for some distance by 
the illumination of the fagade of the palace. 
Beyond the reach of that mass of light the 
street was all gray twilight, relieved at long 
intervals by the faint yellow shimmer of some 
gas-lamp. Above, the sky was of a deep black; 
the moon had set ; heavy storm-clouds had shut 
away all the planets and all the stars. 

The music was merry enough, if the night 
was sad. At several of the salons of the great 
suite the blinds were down, at a good many 
others, not. At soma of these windows the 
dancing couples could be seen flitting past, but 
only as doubtful gray shadows. At others they 
were fully revealed in all the sobriety of the 
men’s costume and the splendor of the women’s. 
These Roman ladies furnished plenty of examples 
of the opposite styles. Brunettes there were with 
their rather dark skins, their large beaming eyes, 
and their perhaps too ample lips; blondes, with 
reddish hair, and complexion pale and transpar- 
ent even to unearthliness. England was repre- 
sented by a few of its beauties— tall, with a 
tallness that suggested that their growth was 
not yet completed, with toilets a trifle too 
dressy, and of a demeanor too proud to conform 
to the standards of compliant feminine grace. 
Among these people were figures describable by 
the one word “oddities” only. And the whole 
was a confusion of splendors and colors, a flash- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


201 


ing here and there of precious stones; among 
which the dark silhouettes of the men mingled, 
producing, in combination with the others, a 
total effect singular indeed. 

And how interesting it was in all ways to the 
people who stood gaping at it in the street below ! 
There they stood, commenting in their character- 
istic way on the whole business; little, sturdy 
Italians — mostly of the lower middle class — to 
whom some of the aristocrats, turning and 
twisting above the level of these observers, 
were quite well known, having been served by 
these inferiors of theirs in shops, or something 
of the kind. One of them would nudge another 
and say, “Hallo ! There’s Princess Romanelli ;” 
and the man nudged would cry to him, “And 
there’s the Marchesa Grandioni, I declare.” 
“E carina la Romanella, mol to graziosa” 
(“A dear little thing is the Romanelli Princess, 
and as graceful as you please).” And then the 
shoemaker or glover in question would kiss the 
tips of his fingers, and, with admirable sang- 
froid, throw a kiss up to the defenseless princess 
in question. 

There they stood, those inferiors in the hu- 
man fight, stretching out their necks to see, 
staring with all their eyes, till those useful 
organs were sore, only to catch glimpses of 
those brilliant superiors, whose measures they 
had, perhaps, taken for boots and shoes; and 
eking out that pleasure by humming the dance 
tunes the musicians were playing in the ball- 
rooms above. All of a sudden all the heads in 


202 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


the street were turned in a different direction 
from those superior regions, and the people 
crushed up right and left against the wall. 
Right through the middle of them stalked a 
procession of gloomy, mysterious, masked forms ; 
a few torches glimmered among them; and two 
coffins followed, one immediately after the other. 

The music seemed to sound sharper than ever 
in the street below at that moment, and some- 
body closed one of the open windows with a 
sudden, quick movement. 

“The perniciosa — oh, good Lord, the perni- 
ciosa!” theory went through the crowd. And 
then there were jokes in plenty, and some pan- 
tomime, signifying defiance of that demon, and 
an invitation to it to do its worst! While, at 
the same time, more than one of these heroes 
rubbed his back uneasily, as though they all at 
once felt some enemy striking them in the rear. 
And, in a very few minutes, the procession 
below proved itself more powerful to repel than 
the ball-room above had been to attract — and the 
Corso was empty! 

But that dancing went on, above the street. 

The fete, it will be remembered, was given in 
honor of the betrothal of a daughter of the house, 
a charming young creature. She was, of course, 
the heroine of the occasion. But the next most 
interesting person to everybody there was the 
Countess Retz. Her loveliness that night seemed 
raised to a point it had never before reached. 
Never had there been seen such brilliancy in her 
eyes, never so deep a tinge of red on her lips. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


203 


Never had she seemed in such brilliant spirits. 
Or, rather, as the more acute observer would 
have put it, never had she been more ready and 
more lavish with her laughter. 

She had on a white dress; she was rarel}- 
seen on such festal occasions in any other color 
than white. So that was nothing unusual. 
But npw she was loaded with a wealth of 
jewelry such as had never been seen on her 
before. These- articles were all presents from 
Enzendoidf, who seemed to be about as enam- 
ored as a man well could be. He never took 
his eyes from her, and never left her side unless 
absolutely obliged. 

Their engagement had not yet been officially 
announced, but the prince had already taken so 
many good friends of both sexes into his confi- 
dence that all the people there knew pretty well 
all about it. And one or other of the more 
elderly ladies, in the exuberance of her good 
nature, kept rustling and bustling up to Lena 
all the time, and whispering, “I congratulate 
you with all my heart, really, all my heart; I’ve 
seen it coming for some time!” And Lena was 
always ready with her words and smiles of 
thanks. 

As we enter the rooms we may find her, if we 
look, seated in a small apartment, situate a 
little aside from the principal ball-room. She 
was between two great ladies. One, the ernbas- 
sadress of one of the great powers, an elderly 
lady with arms too fat and voice too deep; 
drawbacks compensated by the remains of what 


204 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


had once been remarkable beauty. The other of 
the two grcmdes dames was au Englishwoman, 
old Lady Banbury, a person famous everywhere 
for her kindness and her wit. 

“I really am quite delighted, dear child, 
really,” said Lady Banbury. “Of course it’s 
the prince who’s most to be congratulated, but 
some of that falls to your share too. He’s not 
only highly intellectual, a chivalrous and su- 
perbly handsome creature, but he’ll make a 
famous husband, if only” — here the old lady’s 
eyes twinkled humorously — “if only because of 
his past. Now you mustn’t be angry with me, 
dear child. I know it sounds like an old and a 
bad joke ; but I mean that quite seriously, I do, 
indeed, quite truly and seriously!” 

“I am quite of your opinion,” said the em- 
bassadress, very positively. “It’s those wicked 
fellows that always make the best husbands. 
Best thanks, prince!” This last to Enzendorff, 
who had come up to them at the very moment. 
The lady in diplomacy had begged him to get 
her something to drink, and he had brought her 
a glass of champagne. 

“Don’t these other ladies want something?” 
he asked, looking from one to the other. 

4 ‘ No, I think not, ’ ’ laughed old Lady Banbury ; 
“though, stay! I think there is something we 
do want, in which you, with your enormous 
experience, may be able^ to set us poor ignorant 
women right, perhaps. It’s about some views 
we’ve just been advancing ; but what are our 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


205 


views worth until they have been submitted to 
you superior creatures ? ’ ’ 

Enzendorff made a deprecatory movement 
with his hand, saying : “If I am to be of any 
service, you ladies must graciously intimate to 
me of what kind these views I am to pronounce 
on are. And, perhaps, meantime, you’ll allow 
me the privilege of sitting down comfortably 
with you for the discussion.” 

As he said this, his glance went courteously 
from one of .the older ladies to the other, and 
then rested with a tender, interrogating expres- 
sion upon Lena. 

She smiled assentingly, and, at the same time, 
stretched out her arm amiably to push nearer to 
them a small chair that was a little way off. 
Enzendorff, at the same moment, stooped to bring 
it quite close to the group, and, as he did so, 
impressed an almost imperceptible kiss on Lena’s 
hand. Then he stole a glance at the older ladies, 
though he was not apprehensive that they would 
view the little transaction otherwise than indul- 
gently. Sixty years is rather apt to enjoy that 
sort of thing. It was Lena that contracted her 
brows a little. 

This gentleman had been so long a spoiled darl- 
ing of society that his original sensitiveness had 
been a good deal blunted. Lena’s little prudery 
— it was as such that he classified her annoyance 
— amused rather than disturbed him. He pressed 
her hand slightly before allowing it to glide from 
his — that was the man’s instinct of self-assertion 
— and then, turning to the elder ladies, said: 


206 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“Now, I am ready to undertake my function of 
arbitrator.” 

“Oh, you’ll only laugh at us! We two elder 
ladies were maintaining that the less ballast there 
was in the doings of a bachelor, the more likely 
lie was to prove a good husband.” 

“Hm!” said the prince, twisting his mus- 
tache. “If I am to decide that question by 
bringing myself in, I am convinced that the 
future will prove the absolute correctness of your 
views. And that” — with a slight inclination in 
Lena’s direction — “will be a very small merit in 
me, indeed. But if I am to pronounce upon a 
wider view of mankind, I should be sorry to be 
regarded as pledging myself to the truth of the 
proposition. But if I am not without my doubt 
whether the worst bachelors make the best hus- 
bands, I have no doubt whatever, not the least, 
of the truth of the converse. I am quite certain 
that the best bachelors make the worst husbands. ’ ’ 

“Oh!” cried Lena. She was conscious of be- 
ing displeased ; but why she was displeased she 
was not at all conscious. 

“You don’t agree?” said the prince, smiling. 
“Yet, plenty of instances strongly confirmatory 
of my doctrine have come in your way, first and 
last. Take, for instance, our friend Schlitzing ! ” 

“Schlitzing!” exclaimed the embassadress, in 
astonishment. “Why, I’ve always taken him 
for one of the best of husbands! I’ve known 
him since he was quite a little fellow. Such a 
promising youth as he was! It’s a constant 
surprise to me that he hasn’t done more. And 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


207 


the most sympathetic of creatures, too ! At least 
his nature and mine are in strong sympathy, I 
know!” 

“I don’t at all mean to say that my nature is 
out of sympathy with his,” laughed the prince. 
“But that’s quite another matter. And I don’t 
say that he’s a husband who affords much visi- 
ble handle for complaint to his wife ; or that he’s 
bad at all to live with. Besides, some women 
are endowed with a wonderful talent for keeping 
their eyes shut. But there’s no denying this: 
Baroness Else might see a good deal, if it suited 
her to open hers !” 

“You think so?” murmured Lena. Her 
throat had become suddenly dry. 

“Well, I say nothing of his adventures at 
Wiesbaden and Frankfurt; but now this history 
with Princess Orbanoff ! That’s not in taste at 
all! And when one thinks what a charming 
wife he has, what a perfect little jewel of a 
wife!” 

“Surely you don’t attribute any importance 
to a mere flirtation like that!” said Lena, im- 
petuously. 

“No importance?” The prince gave a peculiar 
laugh. “Well, judging from all appearances, I 
can hardly avoid thinking that this excursion to 
Italy was a matter of mutual arrangement be- 
tween Schlitzing and the Orbanoff, before either 
of them left Berlin. The husband’s notorious 
and vigilant jealousy was a good deal of a hin- 
derance to them at first. But all this last week 
he has been in Sicily, routing out antiquities. 


208 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


He left the lovely Ilka under the surveillance, or 
guardianship, of a sister of his, a perfect Cer- 
berus, in whom he has absolute confidence. But 
the sister is altogether taken up with a monsig- 
nore who’s trying to convert her to Catholicism. 
And the young couple are finding their account 
amply in that lady’s diverted attention. Why, 
you meet them everywhere together, the lovely 
Ilka and the languishing Werner ! The Croatian 
puts on quite a bold front on the matter, but the 
gentleman has not such command over his de- 
meanor. In such cases it is the ladies always 
who have to teach the gentlemen the requisite 
aplomb. Though, fortunately, all ladies are 
not so endowed as to make it possible for them 
to do it. Between women and women there are 
differences that are simply immeasurable!” 

“I never should have believed it of Werner,” 
said the embassadress. 

“Nor I, either,” Lena forced herself to say. 
“And yet I’ve seen more of him than of most 
men, being, as he is, the husband of my most 
intimate friend.” 

“Men are always what women choose to 
make them,” said the embassadress; to which 
Lena, who preserved her self-possession only 
with difficulty, replied: “Not quite always. 
I’m sure I should have chosen that Schlitzing 
should be something quite different from that 
for my friend Else’s sake.” She laughed. And 
she had even force of self-control enough to put 
a note of cheerfulness in her laughter, and 
enough even to excite the laughter of the others. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


209 


The music in the ball-room came to them in 
the next brief interval of their silence, with all 
its seductive invitation to motion. 

“You have scarcely danced at all to-night, 
Lena, have you?’’ asked the embassadress. 

“A few turns,” answered the young woman. 
I have asked' the prince to allow me to dispense 
with the cotilion. My engagement is neither 
officially announced nor kept secret; so I would 
rather not be placed on view conspicuously, in 
that way.” 

The other ladies quite sympathized with her. 

The embassadress discovered now that her 
thirst had recurred, and announced the fact to 
them; but this time Prince Enzendorff turned 
a deaf ear. In this pass, another knight came 
forward in the nick of time, offered his arm to 
the lady, and led her away to the buffet. 

A little while after this, Lady Banbury with- 
drew also, declaring that she had had enough 
of it. 

The engaged couple were now left by them- 
selves. Enzendorff edged his chair a little nearer 
to Lena. 4 4 How lovely you look to-night, Lena !” 
he whispered. “Aye, and it is the loveliness of 
the heart, the disposition, the soul, in which you 
so surpass all others. It is that loveliness which 
has made me irrevocably yours. Though, Heaven 
knows, you are just as much beyond your sis- 
ters in the beauty that feasts the merely material 
vision. I despair of giving you any idea of my 
sense of the .high prize I have drawn!” 

“You should be on your guard against spoil- 


210 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


ing me too much, prince!” she said, deprecat- 
ingly. 

He looked in her eyes a little reproachfully. 
“Don’t you think you could get yourself used to 
calling me Ernest when we are quite alone, as 
now?” 

“Ernest!” she murmured, as though the syl- 
lables would not come. “Pardon me, prince — 
that is, Ernest — hut I do not yet quite know my- 
self, in these new circumstances.” 

“You are absolutely charming!” said the 
prince, ardently. Such an attitude of woman 
toward him was a new and peculiar sensation to 
the experienced man, with his record of easy 
conquests. But whether this shyness of his affi- 
anced irritated or pleased was not perfectly clear 
to himself. He took out his watch. “I think it 
is time for me to go, Lena. ’ ’ 

“Are you still determined to leave so early as 
six?” 

“Unfortunately, I don’t see how I can avoid 
it,” the prince replied. “I attach great impor- 
tance to the point of informing my eldest sister 
of my engagement with the least possible delay. 
And, as she may he leaving Florence from one 
day to another, I really ought to hurry thither. 
My sister will be with me, heart and soul, in the 
matter, I am sure. And she will take on herself, 
quite readily, the duty of informing all my other 
near connections of the happiness that has be- 
fallen me, as I shall earnestly entreat her to 
do.” 

“The ‘near connections’ will not be particu- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


211 


larly edified by the communication, I appre- 
hend,” said Lena, dryly. 

“That is their affair,” the prince replied, 
shrugging his shoulders. “It is a matter of the 
most supreme indifference to me!” 

“It is impossible for me, however, to take that 
very impartial attitude in the matter,” replied 
Lena, with some edge on her voice. 

“Lena!” — the prince took her hand in his — 
“whatever attitude of opposition to our engage- 
ment my relatives may be pleased to take, there 
is one thing of which you may rest perfectly sat- 
isfied, that, as my wife, you will occupy the 
position that you ought — and that position can- 
not be higher than the one which you have all 
along occupied by force of your own personal 
merits. And now I really must go. Are you 
going to remain any longer?” 

“Yes, a little while,” replied Lena. 

“Well, well! God protect you, my proud, no- 
ble one ! angel that has come to rescue me from 
what I was ! Mind and wrap up well when you 
leave; these nights are very treacherous. In- 
deed, I shall not be entirely at ease till you have 
left this city of the plague. There must be no 
change in our plans. In a couple of days you 
start for Venice. My Aunt Braccioli knows all 
about it from me ; and whether the others are 
troublesome or not, Aunt Fifie will be sure to 
erect arches of triumph for my queen to go 
through on our way to the altar!” 

He rose, and she rose too, somewhat mechani- 
cally, and they went together to the door. He 


212 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


kissed her hand once again, touched her fore- 
head very lightly with his lips, and disappeared. 

Then the self-possession which she had so 
strongly exerted herself to maintain, feeling it 
due to him, broke down. She pressed her hand- 
kerchief to her mouth with both hands, to stifle 
the loud cry which seemed as though it must 
burst forth in her own despite. 

“Is it all real?” she asked herself. “Is it not 
all some horrible mistake? Is it not all some 
mere stupid rumor which can be at once contra- 
dicted and got rid of?” 

And yet, and yet ! Her thoughts swept back 
over a long range of the past. The very first 
time that her eyes had fallen on him again, after 
that long interval between her early maiden- 
hood and the riper time, he was by the side of 
Ilka Orbanoff. And then, later, how often, how 
often ! And, then, there was that history of the 
bracelet which she found in his room at the 
“Europe” ! Then, that confidential, even famil- 
iar bearing of the Orbanoff woman toward him, 
at the last reception of her series at the Villa 
Brancaleone ; his visible disturbance and embar- 
rassment; his sudden resolve to leave Rome. 
What could be his real reason, if it were not that 
which he had carefully concealed from her, the 
unhappy Lena, his wretched -fear lest he might 
succumb altogether to the depraving and de- 
praved charm of this woman, which had been so 
long held over him with its dangerous power? 

All the facts of the case seemed to her, the 
more she dwelt on them, to fall into a heap 


CHORDS A.ND DISCORDS. 


213 


of confusion, defying interpretation or arrange- 
ment, do what she would*., 

It had all seemed so clear to her, only a little 
while earlier, so unmistakably clear, if so replete 
with anguish. 

She had believed, more or less, for some time 
previous, that his interest in her was stronger 
than friendship ; but after that ride in the Cam- 
pagna there was no possible room for doubt. At 
first the conviction of this had merely startled 
and alarmed her. . But that terrified feeling soon 
gave way to a perfect intoxication of the wild- 
est joy, which, in its turn, inspired so deadly a 
terror that she had clutched at the first man’s 
hand held out to her. 

She had done so for the purpose of enlisting a 
strong ally in the warfare with herself which 
she plainly foresaw. And so it came about that 
she affianced herself to Prince Enzendorff, to 
build a wall between herself and temptation. 

Yes, it had gone so far as that with her! No 
self-deception would avail here; between her 
and — temptation ! 

She rose from the corner of the sofa in which 
she had been cowering, and almost staggered as 
she came to her feet. A sudden vague desire to 
look among the dancers in the ball-room came 
upon her. She had caught only one single 
glimpse of W erner that night ; and that was at 
a moment when she was so surrounded that it 
was quite impossible for him — though, as she 
detected, he intended it — to get near enough to 
her to kiss her hand. 


214 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


She could not resist trying to find out whether 
he was still there, and whether he was dancing. 
She went slowly along the exterior vaulted pas- 
sage which extended along the four sides of the 
court, with its many statues, and upon which 
all the doors of the ball-room gave. These doors 
were all wide open, to let in some air. Lena 
looked in as she passed. The cotilion was just 
reaching its climax, and just at that moment no- 
body was dancing. All necks were being stretched 
forward to see as much as they could of an inci- 
dent, in the course of the cotilion, which seemed 
to be an extraordinary success. Some toy or 
other, with a clock movement, had been wound 
up and was rolling along the floor on the gray 
linen cloth, the usual covering of the floor of 
ball-rooms in Rome. The gentleman in front of 
whom the automaton came to a stop was to have 
the privilege of taking out the young heroine of 
the fete to the dance. There was much laughter, 
much exclamation of excited voices, and a good 
deal of betting, as though the gentlemen and 
ladies were at a horse-race. 

But there was one couple that seemed to be 
quite indifferent to, and indeed quite outside of, 
all this child’s play — Werner and Ilka Orbanoff. 

They were seated close to one another in a cor- 
ner of the ball-room. His arm was resting on 
the back of her chair, and she was talking at a 
great rate in a low voice to him, while he was 
bending forward toward her to listen. He 
seemed to leave nearly all the talk to her, and 
confining his share in the conversation to nods 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


215 


and shakes of the head, steady twisting of his 
mustache, and an occasional low laugh. 

It was difficult to detect in the unhappy young 
man, at that moment, the idealist, the dreamer, 
the enthusiast that he really was. That creature 
seemed entirely extinguished, and, substituted 
for it, was another of whom you might almost 
imagine that it lived only to satisfy the senses, 
and to discard the soul. Every fiber of his frame 
was relaxed ; the soldier’s bearing was forgotten, 
the man’s bearing barely remembered. And all 
his energies seemed to have undergone a complete 
momentary suspense, the consequence of some 
debauch by which they had been overstrained, 
or from which they had vainly sought extrica- 
tion. 

Suddenly, Lena’s eyes and his met in full 
collision. 

At the first moment it seemed as though he 
was somewhat thrown off his balance ; but that 
feeling gave way at once to another, which 
made him contract his brows and give a stare 
that might almost be termed one of defiance. 
She recoiled slightly, as though the look were a 
blow, and went back out of sight among the 
statues of the quiet, vaulted passage; and then 
she looked down into the court. The glow of a 
few tiny colored lamps was visible among the 
rosebushes surrounding the fountains in the 
court. The low musical splashing of the waters 
was distinctly audible to her. The hot, sultry, 
steaming breath of the sirocco ascended to her as 
she stood. And it seemed to her less the breath- 


216 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


ing of a material wind, than the pressure of 
some evil, ghostly influence ; the same influence 
that presses most inexorably our material part to 
earth when the spiritual soars in greatest rap- 
ture to heaven. 

The fiddles within began to scrape a mad 
galop, and all the couples began to career wildly 
over the floor again. The cut-glass pendants of 
the lusters in the room rattled and rattled, as 
though they were shaking with contemptuous 
amusement. 

“Is this all that I have done, with all my sac- 
rifices to duty, to friendship, to God?” she mur- 
mured in a heavy, dull, despairing voice. “Have 
I only made him drag his domestic life through 
the dirt before the sight of men? Dishonor him- 
self and Else both before all. eyes? I cannot 
allow it ; I cannot, and will not allow it to go 
on!” 

Her moral exasperation was sincere, if ever 
there was sincerity and truth in the soul of wo- 
man. But what woman, in her miserable plight, 
could avoid some tincture of jealousy mingling 
with the higher and nobler motive? It was 
there, doing its work, though her spirit was too 
exalted to detect it ; it was there, doing its dan- 
gerous work in drawing her nearer and nearer to 
the abyss. Alas, poor woman ! Alas, poor Lena ! 

The fiddles ceased their scraping. And the 
people came strolling out into the gallery, in 
couples or one by one. And, among the others, 
W erner ; he seemed to be looking about for 
somebody or something. An impulse came over 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


217 


Lena which was too sudden and strong for re- 
flection or resistance. She went straight up to 
him, and laid her hand on his arm, saying 
gently: “Werner!” 

He almost staggered. And when he spoke his 
voice was as the voice of a man hoarse and 
speaking from the far distance. “Lena! What 
is it you want? What can you possibly want 
with me?” 

“I wish to have one more full, long and seri- 
ous conversation with you!” she murmured. 

“It is not for me to refuse you,” he said, in 
that terrible dry voice. “But I cannot help one 
question, for myself, perhaps, rather than you: 
Of what possible use can such conversation be? 
It can come to nothing!” 

“Werner, if you only knew what a stab every 
one of your words gives me, you would spare 
me!” she replied. “I have not deserved that 
you should take this tone with me!” 

He was silent, with the silence of hauteur, 
defiance and distress. 

“Werner!” she stammered, in imploring 
tones. 

“I am awaiting any communication you may 
be pleased to make,” he replied, in a hard voice. 

She clutched her forehead wildly with her 
hand. Misery, such misery as swiftly seals up 
the springs of life itself, seized and shook her. 
Another moment, and she feared her feet might 
no longer he able to support her. “I cannot say 
what I have to say here,” she murmured. 
“Somebody would come up and interrupt every 


218 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


mofnent. Come to me to-morrow afternoon, 
come for one last time ; do it for your old friend 
— do it, I beg and beseech you!” 

He reflected for an instant, and then said, in 
cutting tones : 4 4 Am I to have the pleasure of 
sharing the interview with your very distin- 
guished fiance?” 

4 4 No, no!” she answered, hurriedly. 4 4 My 
fiance starts early to-morrow, for Florence. What 
I have to say is matter sacred and only for our- 
selves, Werner!” 

44 Schlitzing, have you routed out my wrap?” 
cried a deep female voice. It was Ilka Orbanoff, 
appearing at one of the doors of the salons open- 
ing on to the gallery. 

“Immediately, princess!” replied Werner. 

4 4 You will come? To-morrow! In the after- 
noon?” whispered Lena, taking hold of his wrist 
with an almost involuntary movement. 

He merely bowed, turned upon his heel, and 
went to the Croatian lady. 

Lena left the gallery with staggering footsteps, 
and was quite passive as the servant, who was 
there waiting for her, put her cloak round her. 
Then she got into her carriage, and was driven 
to the Villa Brancaleone, through the gray morn- 
ing twilight, whose veil was dissolving rapidly 
into the dawn. 

Her whole being, body, soul, spirit, seemed as 
though it would exhale in one long cry of an- 
guish and despair. 

But she made no sound. To all the lifelong 
stock and store of grief that had led up to this 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


219 


climax of her misery, there was now added one 
bitter ingredient of humiliation hitherto absent 
from her experiences. She had humiliated her- 
self before W erner ! She had been spurned by 
Werner! She, who had always placed herself 
upon a pedestal so high above him ! She whose 
slightest favor had been always taken by him 
as though it were the extreme of condescension, 
she had had that day to entreat for words with 
him as though she were some beggar seeking 
alms. 

There was but one thought to comfort h^r 
where everything else was gloom. “It was not 
for my sake, it was not for my sake ! It was for 
Else’s dear sake! Oh, God! If he will only 
come! But will he come, will he?” 


CHAPTER XLII. 

The forenoon was over, at last. The second 
breakfast was finished. At which she had sat, 
pale, with fever in her veins, without being able 
to swallow a morsel; a dumb, helpless figure — 
with Miss Sinclair confronting her. 

And that lady’s appetite, which no circum- 
stances ever disturbed, amazed Lena more than 
ever ; the appetite and the inexhaustible phlegm. 

Miss Sinclair had now withdrawn. She had 
gone, to proceed with the execution of the 
undertaking she was at present busy with, 


220 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


and which absorbed all her energies. And 
there she now sat, stiff, upright, at her desk, 
with her elbows stuck to her sides — the regu- 
lation attitude of the industrious writer — la- 
boriously adding page to page to her master- 
piece, a work upon Rome. It was to be a 
work not simply topographical or historical, 
but also of imagination and ideas ; something 
occupying a kind of intermediate ground be- 
tween Murray’s Handbook and Mme. de Stael’s 
“Corinne.” Page after page left her hand, writ- 
ten with desperate precision, without a moment’s 
hesitation, without a particle of obscurity, and 
without a blot. The sirocco raging without had 
no more power to disturb Miss Sinclair than if 
she had been a wooden image. The evil breeze 
would not have helped to quicken her pulses, 
even had she been engaged in trying to do that 
impossible, incredible, incompatible thing — write 
a love-story. 

Lena went and sat by herself in her favorite 
apartment, the corner room with an entrance 
into the garden. She was deadly tired, but so 
restless withal that it was as much as she could 
do to be quiet' for a moment. She took a book in 
her hand, but could not fix her attention. Her 
eyes saw the letters, but the letters formed no 
words. 

She looked at the clock. Three ! Did he 
mean to come? She turned her head. Hark! 
Was not that somebody’s step? She rushed to 
the door. Only one of the under-gardeners pass- 
ing by. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


221 


She remained standing at the doqr gazing out. 
The thick gray clouds out of which the sirocco 
proceeded were hanging deeper and deeper, 
nearer than ever to the ground. And it was 
strange. There was moisture in the air; of that 
there could be no doubt. The system felt it, de- 
pressing and relaxing. But, for all that, the soil 
seemed dried up, and was cloven into many 
chasms. Leaves and flowers were fast withering 
up. The earth, wherever you looked, seemed 
perishing with thirst. There was a sensation in 
the air that made you feel as if some monstrous 
thing was approaching nearer and nearer, seek- 
ing for victims to devour. 

Through these sirocco-mists came the sound 
of a little Neapolitan song, sung in a voice that 
seemed to have something of the dull, dreaming 
languor of love in it. Then there was some 
laughter, and the song was taken up in two 
parts, a male voice and female. 

The cloying sweetness of the oleander flowers 
came to her from the same direction as the song. 

Lena listened for a moment or two, then turned 
back into the room like an automaton. It was 
the gardener’s daughter, of course, gathering 
orange flowers with a young Neapolitan lad, one 
of the under-gardeners. The two were always 
together in one place or another. And the thing 
was a thorn in Lena’s eye. “Let them make a 
match of it, for all I care, but this sort of thing !” 

No, she could not possibly put up with it any 
longer, this frivolous flirting and coquetry! It 
was a horror ! 


222 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


She went back into the room further and fur- 
ther ; then she walked up and down like a caged 
thing; then stood still and listened with all her 
ears. 

No sound! Not a sound! He did not intend 
to come, then! Ilka Orbanoff had prevented 
him somehow ! Amazing, monstrous, the power 
of females of that sort! — * ‘females’ ’ was the 
word her thought employed, not * ‘ women. ’ ’ What 
was the secret of that strange, terrible force? 
Did it operate as a portion of those blind, irre- 
sistible nature-powers which maintain the whole 
created world of things? How much did all that 
virtue, which civilization had invented to pro- 
tect itself, weigh in the balance, after all, when 
set against a primary force such as that? 

Again there came upon her almost a blast of 
that repulsively cloying perfume of orange-blos- 
soms. A shudder ran through her. Then, sud- 
denly, there arose in her memory a legendary 
explanation and commentary — the extempore in- 
vention of the Cardinal — of Botticelli ’s ‘ ‘ Spring. ’ ’ 
She remembered the moment, as she did every- 
thing, perfectly. She had just turned away 
with a shudder from that strange combination 
of depravity and symbolism. And she remem- 
bered the Cardinal’s demeanor, too, the amuse- 
ment in his face, the twinkling in his good- 
humored, too wide-awake old eyes. 

Here was the legend, and the commentary. 
“The last great revolutionary conspiracy in the 
heavens above had been put down. And the all- 
powerful Creator of all things had got His vie- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


223 ' 


torious foot upon the Devil’s neck at last. The 
Devil was down ; not a doubt of it ! But the 
Devil was not quite dead ; very far from it. He 
had strength enough left to look up, with a good 
deal of scorn in his look too, and say: ‘All right! 
Annihilate me ! Make an end of me ! Kill me ! 
But please not- to forget that if you do you’ll 
annihilate, kill, make an end of all creation too, 
to keep me company. I am the Principle whereby 
all living things continue themselves. I am he 
whereby they bear . fruit before they die ! Life 
is in the hollow of my hand; and, if you destroy 
me, all the work of your hand will grow cold in 
death!’ The All-powerful saw the force of that, 
and could not bring Himself to let all His glori- 
ous world dry up and cease to bring forth fruit 
forever. So He struck a truce with the Devil, 
determining that He would think the matter 
well over, and see how He could wrest this 
power, that had been going on through the ages, 
out of the Devil’s hand. And that truce has 
gone on up to the present moment ; has gone on 
and will, as long as life’s fever pulses through 
creation’s veins.” 

Lena could not help recalling this improvisa- 
tion of her paternal friend ; and her glance rested 
on the photograph of him which was placed on 
the piano. 

That love-song was audible again ; and, now, 
so near that she caught the words. The blood 
shot into her cheeks. This was really more than 
any one could be expected to put up with ! She 
went hastily to the bell ; she would send a ser- 


224 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


vant out to the people. But she stopped short 
suddenly, turned her head and listened. How 
well the male and female voices harmonized and 
balanced each other ! And why, oh ! why, was 
the melody of that song so sweet, and the words 
so ugly, so hateful? And lo! in the very next 
stanza after those allusions, so seductive in in- 
tention, so repulsive in reality, which had so 
angered her, came another stanza — as is so often 
the case with the songs of the people— which 
was full of a gentle resignation and melancholy, 
one almost of warning against the dangers of the 
verses which had preceded it. Lena bent her 
head forward to hear better. And, how strange 
a thing is this nature of ours ! When the song 
ceased, much as it had annoyed her, she would 
fain almost have had it begin again. 

She waited an instant or two. No ! Song and 
singers were alike gone. But the perfume of 
the orange flowers remained ; and that seemed, 
every moment, to grow stronger and stronger. 

Then, suddenly, came the hoarse sound of dis- 
tant thunder. Darkness began to gather. Heavy 
rain-drops began to fall. 

• The restlessness under which Lena had been 
laboring the whole livelong day seemed to in- 
crease tenfold. Her limbs grew heavier and 
heavier. It seemed as though her very breath- 
ing must shortly cease. 

It is settled. No Werner is to come that day! 

At that moment the door opened. Sulzer ap- 
peared, announcing: “Baron von Schlitzing.” 

“Ask him to come in.” 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


225 


< 

Wonderful is the self-possession of women! 
As he crossed the threshold, she seated herself 
in her favorite place in an easy-chair, in bearing 
and attitude much the same as at any other time. 
Or, if not quite the same, it would have taken 
keener eyes than Werner’s to detect the differ- 
ence. 

“I did not hear any carriage as you came up !” 
she said, after holding out her hand to him and 
making him seat himself at her side. 

“I walked here,” he replied. 

“Walked! All the way from ‘The Europe’ 
here?” she asked. 

“No; only from the Palatine.” 

“Ah! you’ve just come from the Palatine?” 
she asked, and her voice was a little forced. 

“Yes.” 

She could say nothing for a moment ; then, 
giving him an angry look, she asked: “With 
whom?” 

“With whom? With a couple of cousins from 
East Prussia, from whom I received a letter at 
the hotel yesterday, a letter as full as it could 
hold of blood-relationship. And they asked me 
to help them in their wanderings about a little 
here, which I could scarcely refuse. I have been 
taking them to see the Ara Coeli, the Forum and 
the Palatine. I’ve told them very plainly that 
they positively must leave Rome without a mo- 
ment’s delay, as the fever is increasing so rap- 
idly. I was very nearly overtaken by the storm 
before I got here, Lena.” 

“Hm!” Lena had crossed her arms on her 


226 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


breast while listening to him. “Do you expect 
me to believe in this story of yours, and these 
cousins from East Prussia?’ ’ she asked, sharply. 

“I never was a good hand at telling lies, Lena, 
and I’ve given up practicing altogether, lately!” 

“Oh! we all know that there are some cases 
in which a gentleman who respects himself is 
obliged to lie!” she replied. 

He looked very straight in her face. “May I 
be permitted to ask what you mean by ‘some 
cases,’ and what those cases have to do with 
me?” 

She looked away from him. “All Rome is 
talking about you!” she said, with some vio- 
lence. 

“Indeed! I am surprised. Has all Rome 
nothing better to do than concern itself about so 
insignificant a person as I am? There are mat- 
ters so much more interesting for it to talk over; 
your engagement, for instance!” 

She uttered a little cry of angry dissatisfaction. 
“Oh, indeed! I should like to know what my 
engagement matters to you?” 

“Well, at least as much as it matters to you 
whether I’ve been to see the Palatine with 
cousins from East Prussia, or in company with 
any other person!” 

She bit her lips. How was it that he ventured 
to say such things to her? What change was 
this that had taken place in him? Had she lost 
all power over him? Under these circumstances, 
how could she possibly fulfill the serious task she 
had undertaken? 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


227 


“I wonder you came here at all, if you mean 
to behave like this ! Every word you utter gives 
me pain!” she said, in great irritation. 

“I came because you expressly requested me 
so to do,” he answered, uncompromisingly. 
“And I now beg to ask what purpose you had 
in so doing?” 

A long pause followed. The rain fell heavier 
and heavier; the atmosphere in the room they 
were seated in changed gradually to a gloomy 
bluish tinge ; now and then a flash of lightning 
tore into the darkness ; and then followed a loud 
thunderclap that seemed to shake the very earth. 
The man and the woman both were quite insen- 
sible to this raging of the elements. At last she 
raised her melancholy eyes to him, and began : 

“You ought to be perfectly well aware that I 
should not have dreamed of asking you to come 
here unless I had important reasons for doing 
so!” she murmured. 

“Very possibly ! But I find it quite impossible 
to imagine what those reasons can be. ’ ’ 

She drew a deep breath, and then went on in 
very low, intense tones, TVhich seemed to give 
especial force to that soft, vibrating voice of 
hers ; a voice which, to a keen ear, told the story 
of her mental and bodily exhaustion : 

“Werner, you know how warm the ties of 
friendship have been between Else and myself, 
ever since our early girlhood. Else was the one 
only creature in this world, at one time, upon 
whom I was permitted to lavish any affection. 
And God knows what treasures of affection I 


228 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


was conscious of carrying in my heart, and 
with what bitterness I yearned for somebody 
to spend them on ! This last winter, Else and 
I, after long years in which we had seen noth- 
ing of each other, came together again. And 
then I saw you again, too. I had, during 
those years, carried about with me a pict- 
ure of your character which was altogether the 
creation of my imagination, and which might 
very probably have been the merest distortion 
of your real self. But, in renewing my inter- 
course with Else, I came to know you better, 
and to prize your character at its real worth. 
Both of you gave me the privilege of sitting 
down to warm my chilled life at the fires of your 
domestic hearth, of sharing your famity life; 
and how sweet and tender that life was ! I was 
grateful to you both for that privilege. Ah, 
God ! how grateful words cannot tell ! I learned 
to love all of you, all of you alike, you, Else, the 
children. Every breath I drew seemed to have 
you all in it. Every beat of my heart seemed a 
prayer for one and all of you. And now when 
I see all that love, which was such a delight to 
me, standing in mortal peril ; when I see you 
bent upon bringing all that sweet, dear, lovely 
domestic happiness of yours to rack and ruin ; 
when I see you going straight to degradation, 
my heart is cut to pieces. And I cannot help 
longing to do everything in my power to stop 
you in your course. It is for that purpose I asked 
you to come here. I did it in order to have one 
last opportunity of speaking to your conscience, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


229 


of saying to you: Think, think! for God’s sake, 
think what it is you are going the road to de- 
stroy, and shake from your soul a feeling which 
can have no better result than to drag you down 
into the mire!” She clasped her hands, and 
looked up at him, her face full of imploration 
and entreaty. 

But his face had no such answer in it as she 
looked for. An angry frown gathered on his 
forehead. “It is too late, Lena!” he replied. 
“A few days ago, all that you say would have 
touched my senses to the quick. I could have 
seen nothing but beauty and duty in it. But 
it is too late! Then , you could have led me 
whithersoever you would; one glance of yours 
would have sufficed, a glance or a casual smile. 
But all that is past and gone now; past and 
gone !” 

A hoarse groan escaped her. She clasped her 
forehead with both hands, and drew back her 
hair from her temples. “Can this woman’s 
power be so utterly irresistible?” she asked, in 
tones of despair. 

“Woman’s power! What woman? What 
power? What do you mean?” he asked, angrily. 

“Well, this — this” — she kept her face averted 
— 4 ‘ this Pr inc ess Or banoff ! ’ ’ 

“Power! Princess Orbanoff!” There was 
boundless contempt in his voice. “If you could 
only realize how utterly indifferent the woman 
always has been to me— has been, and is ! Or- 
banoff indeed ! She has never been to me more 
than a glass of champagne, which a man clutches 


230 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


at to help him to get over a miserable hour or 
two. If you know so little of the human heart 
as all that, if you have so very little insight into 
character, whatever you may have to say can 
weigh very little with me!” 

The thoughts that shot into Lena’s heart, as 
he spoke, had terror in them. But the terror 
was mingled with a subdued rapture. She knew 
well that it was her duty to prevent him saying 
another word. And she felt also, alas ! that she 
was no longer strong enough to do this. She 
knew it only too well now. If ever she was to 
know a moment’s peace again, it could not be, 
now, until after those words had been fully spo- 
ken which she ought not to allow to come to ut- 
terance at all. Oh, paradox of the self-deceiving 
soul! Then, perhaps — nay, then, certainly, by 
the mercy of the All-merciful, this frightful 
restlessness of her spirit might gather the flowers 
of resignation. She could renounce a love that 
she had come certainly to know as being her 
own. But not even renunciation was possible 
if her despair was always to go hand in hand, 
thenceforward, with doubt. 

“I never pretended to have much knowledge 
of character, or the human heart,” she mur- 
mured. “But this change in you, this utter 
change— you are not the same creature!” 

“You are quite right in that. I am not the 
same man at all. I am at the edge of an 
abyss; and it is very probable that I shall 
not be able to avoid falling into it, or plung- 
ing into it. But it’s not to be laid to the 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


231 


account of the poor princess, not the least in 
the world !” 

Lena hesitated before she said the words ; her 
heart beat as though she would choke; the pul- 
sations shook her throat. “Whose, then?” she 
murmured. 

“Do you really wish me to tell you?” he 
asked, sharply. Her head sank. “Well, then, 
listen. She who is accountable for it is a woman 
whom I venerated with all the moral force my 
nature had left in it, little or great — a woman in 
whom I believed I saw incorporated all that was 
most beautiful, noble, tender and loving that 
God had ever gathered together to make the one 
perfect, unique creature among His daughters; 
a 'woman under whose influence the ideals of my 
youth, trodden into the dust by circumstances, 
sprang up again into renewed life and bloom; 
a woman whom I was content to worship in sad, 
silent, austere devotion for the very reason that 
she wore a countenance that seemed, in the 
height of her moral grandeur, sternly to forbid 
that worship. Yes, a woman whom I worshiped, 
worshiped then, and now despise, despise from 
the very bottom of my heart; because I have 
come to see that it was a mere vision, that former 
reading of her ; and that she really is nothing 
but an average creature, with whom the satis- 
faction of vanity and ambition outweighs every 
consideration on earth ; a creature who sold her- 
self once, and now purposes to do it again. And 
now, Lena, a question to you, in my turn. Name 
the woman of whom I speak!” 


232 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


Lena had sprung from her chair, as he spoke, 
as though shot through the heart. She rushed 
past him to the door giving on to the garden, 
tore it open, and flung out her arm with a ges- 
ture full of tragic intensity. He rose, bowed, 
and went out ; went, without an instant’s hesi- 
tation, and without turning for one farewell look. 
The rain fell upon him in positive masses of 
water ; big hailstones mingled with the rain and 
pelted him. He had gone but a few steps when 
the clouds were cloven asunder with so blinding 
a flash that the whole sky seemed to be sending 
fire upon his head. The bolt struck an ivy-tree 
close to him. It seemed to totter to the very 
roots; it cracked and fell. Then — what was this? 
Suddenly he felt himself seized by two hands, 
cold as ice, which clung to him and prevented 
his going further. 

“For God Almighty’s sake, Lena!” 

Yes, it was Lena, who had rushed to him 
through all that horror of hail, thunder and 
lightning! Lena, who now gazed up at him 
with death in her eyes — Lena, who cried, in a 
voice of anguish: “Come back, I implore you! 
Come back till the storm passes!” 

He stood there an instant, unable to move a 
limb, unable to utter a word. Again the clouds 
were torn by the lightning ; again a wreath, or 
ball, of fire struck the earth quite near to them. 
Then Lena threw both her arms round him, as 
if to shield him from the fury of the elements. 
“For God’s sake! for God’t sake, come back!” 
She clung to him passionately, desperately. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


233 


From the higher ground in the garden, where 
the orange grove was, there had come down 
quite a small river of rain-water, as much mud 
as water, and it was rushing rapidly to lower 
ground, with many ruined white flowers on its 
surface, close by the two unhappy creatures. 
And it was between them and the house. 

Before Lena knew what he was doing, he had 
lifted her from the ground and carried her back 
through that muddy stream into the garden- room 
they had just left. There he put her on her feet ; 
stooped, took the hem of her sodden garment, 
pressed it to his lips, and hurried away. 

Self-sacrifice? Magnanimity? Yes, if you 
will. There are moments when man — and woman 
— are capable of such acts. Those moments are, 
of all, the most critical in the history and devel- 
opment of passion. They are moments when it 
has reached its climax of sacredness and beauty. 
They are moments when, from that climax there 
comes the descent, slow, gradual, inexorable, to 
the lower ground. The Angel of Love, in those 
moments of solemnity and terror, has soared for 
the last time into the regions of the empyrean. 
But he is incapable of further upward flight. 
His foot touches the earth soon after again ; and 
that contact sends a shudder through him. Fain 
would he rise, once more, to those upper heights ; 
and he spreads his wings for the effort. But 
their office is done ; and, so far from raising him 
they drop from him, leaving him to such fate as 
he may find upon the common soil. 

And the skies went on sending forth fire and 


234 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


ice. Earth quivered under the thunderclaps. 
Mangled flowers and dead birds fell from the 
trees. Earth seemed one vast Desolation, filled 
with a hissing and a howling, as of the angry 
Demon, cheated of some expected prey on which 
he had surely reckoned. 


CHAPTER XLIII. 

Werner returned to his hotel, crazed rather 
than intoxicated with delight. And, hardly 
had he changed his clothes, when he sat down 
at his table to write to Lena. Before he saw 
Lena again he felt it indispensable to make her 
see as he did in regard to this conflict of affec- 
tions and interests in the lives of both, which 
had now come to a point where, in his view, it 
admitted of but one solution. This was abso- 
lutely clear to him ; he must now make it equally 
clear to her. 

Lena loved him. Lena’s life and his must be 
made one. 

All his capacity for thinking and feeling gath- 
ered together in the focus of this one overmas- 
tering, exclusive sentiment. 

For the moment it was impossible for him to 
take into serious account the many creatures, 
the many hearts, he would have to tread under 
his foot. All that was nothing to the purpose : 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


235 


he was deaf and dumb and blind to it, unhappy- 
man! 

The Devil had gone to work very cunningly 
with him. One by one, little by little, all the 
lights had been put out in his soul except those 
that threw their evil rays in one direction. His 
passion had now reached that height where the 
very principle of love for his kind — even those 
once nearest and dearest — seemed paralyzed in 
him, where the sentiment of Duty, in its high- 
est and deepest signification, seemed withered at 
the very root. 

He had simply lost, for the moment, the 
power of forming in his mind’s eye any ade- 
quate image whatever of the miseries insepara- 
ble from his purpose. Indeed, he may be said, 
just then, to have all but lost the power of think- 
ing altogether. And in the places of his soul 
where will and thought had reigned, but knew 
them now no longer, there raged and reigned 
little more than a wild desire. 

What little power of reflection was left to him 
enabled him to perceive that — in the case of 
such a tvoman as Lena — the thousand and one 
perplexities and humiliations inseparably bound 
up with secret and unhallowed relations were 
absolutely out of the question. Impossible to 
drag her down to that level. Everything must 
be done to spare Lena’s dignity and self-respect. 
Lena was and must be his first consideration, 
whatever befell. There was simply but one 
thing to be done. He must divorce himself 
from Else; he must be free, and marry Lena. 


236 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


No other plan was possible. He settled in his 
own mind that it must and should be so. Only 
so would he be able to induce Lena to sanction 
this project of divorce, and give him her hand 
when the tie now binding him was sundered. 
There was nothing else that constituted an in- 
superable barrier in his present frame of mind. 
Certainly, there was Else — and the children. 

Well; he was very sorry for Else; very, if 
you came to that. What a pity that the thing 
could not be carried through without hurting 
her. It was really quite hard and cruel of fate 
that there was no help for that. He was sorry 
for Else. Poor Else! 

The children! Well, when he thought of the 
children he was touched with something like a 
feeling of melancholy and regret. Well, yes, 
he would certainly have to do without them; 
and that idea was not exactly pleasant. But, 
still, it could be arranged that they would spend 
some weeks, perhaps months, every year with 
him; and, then, Lena was so full of resources, 
so sweet to them, so devoted to his children ! 

He had never felt so inclined to fall down and 
worship her as when she had one of his little 
ones on her lap. She would know how to get 
over any little difficulties there might be in their 
arrangements. ‘ ‘ Getting over little difficulties” 
was a very innocent phrase ; but what it meant 
was neither more nor less than making the chil- 
dren strangers to their mother, sooner or later. 
A very ugly, hateful idea, indeed, as Werner 
would have been ready to see, if he had not lost 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


237 


possession of himself and his brain for the time 
being. And the only excuse that can be made 
for him is that this really was as nearly as pos- 
sible the case. 

. As we have said, his thinking power, his per- 
ceptions of cause and effect, were, in that crisis, 
all but extinguished. And, as is the case with 
men of his stamp, this suspense of the rational 
part in him was accompanied by a wild debauch 
of his fancy and imagination. Freed from the 
fettering perception of realities, that imagination 
of his performed miracles in the way of beauti- 
fying the life he was proposing to get at by 
forcing his way through all these obstacles of 
duty and right. And wonderful were the web3 
of deceitful charm which his fancy wove to hide 
from the inexorable eye of day the abysses in 
which he proposed to plunge every soul con- 
nected with the matter — Else, children, Lena, 
and himself. 

And all this, although the man was radically 
a fine, noble creature, in whose nature the prin- 
ciple of dignity was stronger by far than in 
most, in whose heart lay the strongest power of 
affection, whose tenderness and sensitiveness for 
others was something rare, indeed. What can 
be said, except that he was an irresponsible 
being just then; delirious with the fever in his 
veins; neither more nor less than a sick man? 

Many were the influences and circumstances 
that had contributed to bring about in him this 
sickness of the soul. 

There is but one positive, tangible, inexpug- 


238 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


nable ground upon which moral principles can 
be based. And that is the ground of religion. 
On this ground his feet had long ceased to stand. 
But there is another ground upon which men of 
experience are fain or content to erect the edifice 
of morality. It is a ground not so much of ob- 
jective principle as of subjective resignation. 
And it consists in this : That the desires of the 
individual must be renounced if they can only 
be satisfied by the overturn of rules recognized 
as radically necessary, if the principle of a com- 
munity, of a society, is to have any effective 
place in life at all. Werner was in a stage of 
thought in which the religious principle had 
ceased to operate, and the other — the stoical 
principle — had not begun to act. 

We have seen how, at an earlier date, he had 
become familiar, in his social intercourse with 
certain ladies, whose principles had broken down 
under the stress of anarchic speculations, of the 
arguments that dissolve the social bond in the 
interest of the individual feeling. He had not 
yielded to those arguments then, but they had 
never passed away from his mind. They had 
exercised there a latent force. And that force 
came to the surface now to help him to specious 
excuses for the steps he meditated. 

According to these doctrines there was but 
one motive which could invest intimate rela- 
tions between two beings not of the same sex 
with any semblance of right ; love, mutual at- 
traction of the soul. Where that had not be- 
gun, or where that ceased to operate, those 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


239 


relations could lay no claim to being moral at 
all. The principle was plain; the deduction 
was inexorable. Any further continuance of 
his marriage relations with Else was immoral- 
ity, nothing but immorality. 

This was as clear as daylight to him ; we 
have said so. But there was Lena! Would 
she so readily fall in with those Views? He 
could not wholly disguise from himself that, 
to say the least, there would have to be a great 
struggle with her before she did. 

One thing was clear. He must do his part 
to bring about in her as clear, as logical, as 
courageous a comprehension of the situation 
they were in as he had in himself. 

Moved by these considerations he wrote at 
once the following letter to Lena, and sent it on 
to her the same evening : 

“Lena, dear, worshiped, beloved Lena! 

“It needed the lightning flashes of those in- 
comparable moments to enable me to read all 
that was, that is, in your soul. Only when 
Heaven had sent the electric illumination of 
those messengers of the sky could I, at last, at 
last, see into the very depths of your being, so 
fraught with mystery, with moral grandeur, 
with passion! And so it is, then, that I have 
come to see what it never entered into my wild- 
est moments to hope even, far less to believe — 
that you love me. Can you — you ! — take it ill 
of me if I am overwhelmed with happiness, 
nearly crazed with happiness, now that I know 


240 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


this so certainly and so well? Lena, Lena, 
what happiness, what a rapture of happiness 
the future has in store for us ! 

“You cannot for a moment fail to apprehend 
my meaning. You being what you are, how 
could I ever dare to offer you any fragment of 
myself, anything less than my whole life? Your 
engagement with Enzendorff, what is it but a 
mere barrier you have tried to erect between 
yourself and me? And my marriage with Else, 
what has that been but one long blunder and 
mistake of many years’ standing? You must 
annul your engagement on your part, I my mar- 
riage on mine, that we may be free, that I may 
be free to offer you what alone I ought — my 
hand. 

“And, as far as I am concerned, believe me, 
that to part from my wife is the one conclusion 
imposed by reason and morality alike, in view of 
all that has led up to the present situation. 

“There is no aspect of this question which I 
have not fully and maturely considered. To 
prove to you that this is so, I will venture upon 
the information — do not shrink, we are discuss- 
ing practical things — that my position, mate- 
rially, is one now of complete independence, 
thanks to the succession to considerable prop- 
erty which occurred in my favor only two 
years ago. Our future, therefore, will be am- 
ply provided for. 

“The only thing now to be done is to con- 
sider well, thoroughly, carefully, the best course 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


241 


to take to lead up to the divorce I ought to bring 
about. 

“Your reputation must be the first, the fore- 
most, the most sacred consideration, dear Lena! 
Whatever is to be the result of these painful 
complications, that, at all events, must emerge 
from them flawless, unassailable. Indeed, it 
was not necessary to put that in words. But 
it had to be said. Because, for that reason, it 
is my purpose to do myself the violence of 
denying myself the unspeakable delight of 
seeing you for a season; and what a sacrifice 
that will be you will surely know! But, first 
of all, I have to entreat you to appoint me an 
hour for a meeting, to discuss more particularly 
and fully the matter of this letter. With love 
and reverence, boundless and unspeakable — 

“ Werner.’ ’ 


CHAPTER XLIY. 

It was late at night before Lena received this 
letter. 

She read it twice, thrice. And her feeling 
was one almost of exasperation, first with Wer- 
ner, next with herself. She seated herself at 
her writing-table to answer it at once. But she 
found it impossible to do so. 

Fever raged in her veins, in her heart, in her 
head. She held out her arms to empty space, 
poor soul ! It was all she dared open her arms 


242 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


to. “Oh, for happiness!” she murmured; “for 
one poor hour of true, real happiness!” Then 
she clenched her teeth, and the frown gathered 
on her pure forehead, and she thrust Werner’s 
letter out of sight, into a drawer of the writing- 
table, and turned the key on it. 

For some nights previous she can scarcely be 
said to have slept. She had felt herself overcome 
by a deadly fatigue, and she went early to her 
couch. But, in spite, or because, of this excess 
of her fatigue she tossed about for a long time 
before sleep consented to come. Nay, it did not 
consent. It sent a Dream instead to plague her 
even then withal. 

It seemed to her that she was made to stand 
in a meadow luxurious with grass and flowers, 
and in the center of this meadow was a statue, 
very tall, and with its face covered with a thick 
veil. Female votaries of Bacchus — his women 
they were curtly called in the old mythology — 
were circling round this silent, mysterious figure, 
with movements signifying the unrestraint of 
passion; pale, beautiful, voluptuously formed 
girls, whose clothing was for beauty only, not 
for covering, with tiger skins on their' shoulders 
and vine leaves in their hair. On their wrists 
and ankles bangles of gold glittered in the sun- 
light. The air was heavy with the perfume of 
orange flowers, and in the distance two voices 
were singing a love song, one male the other 
female. The dance of the women of Bacchus 
became more impassioned, more unrestrained 
every moment. Wonderful was the seduction, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


243 


the invitation, the charm that spoke in every 
movement of the limbs, in every lineament of 
the faces, of those pale creatures. Yet there 
was that in them, too, which made Lena shudder 
and recoil. 

And those eyes! They were the eyes, the 
well known, terrible eyes, of the women of 
Bacchus, narrow, nearer far to the brows and 
temples than the eyes of humankind ; eyes that 
looked ever upon the ground, as do the eyes 
of beasts, and never to the skies. 

And they thronged round her, and whispered 
in those rich, dangerous, seductive voices, pe- 
culiar to the women of Bacchus and to Sirens, 
and said to her; 

“Remain with us! Be of us! Offer sacrifice 
to the goddess round whose veiled figure we 
dance, dance, dance for ever, and all shalt thou 
have and more that thy heart desireth, Only — ” 

“Well?” 

The women of Bacchus made no answer. 
But, in their stead, a Voice from above cried in 
awful tones : 

‘ ‘Only : Thereafter never shalt thou be suf- 
fered to look Behind thee, and never to look 
Above thee.” 

Then, in this Vision of her Trial, the faithful 
soul looked upward to the source from which 
that Voice had spoken. And all that array of 
Voluptuousness and Temptation vanished; she 
was left alone, and her strength failed, and she 
fell to the ground. But she recovered at once, 
and crawled painfully, slowly, as though with 


244 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


the last of her strength, till she reached the 
mountain from whose summit the Voice of 
Warning had come. She toiled painfully up 
that ascent. But the mountain became more 
and more precipitous, the air became colder 
and colder, and but very, very little of her 
strength was left. She tried to prevent herself 
from falling down the steep by seizing a bush 
that grew out of the rock. But lo! It was full 
of thorns and the thorns pierced her hands. She 
defied the pain and seized the thorns, the leaves, 
the branches, to steady and save herself. The 
bush felt as if it were giving way altogether; a 
giddiness seized her; she looked below to see the 
place from which she had escaped. 

A thick gray mist now overhung and shut 
from view the meadow and the flowers. But 
the veiled statue stood high above the mist. 
Then all the folds of the veil fell from it, and a 
black Demon emerged from the unveiled figure, 
winging his way above the plain. It was the 
Demon of the Spring, from whose mouth there 
comes Creation and the Principle that makes it 
bear fruit. He spread out his wings to their 
utmost breadth and shot upward with a violent 
movement — 

And Lena awoke with a violent scream. 

Before noon next day Werner received the 
following answer to his letter. There was no 
superscription : 

“I should fail altogether if I were to attempt 
to describe the pain your letter has given me. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


245 


Do not attempt to see me! There is nothing to 
advise about concerning your future and mine. 
Everything in your life must remain exactly 
where it is. Nobler far and more magnanimous 
would it have been in you if you had never 
made even a single further allusion to that 
which mere accident, robbing me for a moment 
of my self-possession, has betrayed to you. But 
this suggestion of yours, which you seem to 
make as though it were a mere matter of 
course, that I should, in cold blood, thrust Else 
aside and rob her of her happiness, I think 
simply monstrous, frightful, horrible! 

“I am almost beside myself when I think of 
the misfortune and misery which I have occa- 
sioned; I, of all women in the world, I — I . . . 

“Your idea of a divorce is so wicked, so hate- 
ful, so unworthy of you, that it can only be ex- 
plained at all by the state of agitation you are 
in; a state which, for the moment, deprives you, 
no doubt, of all responsibility for your words 
and deeds. 

“But this is only for the moment. It will 
pass away ; and then you will be deeply grate- 
ful to me that I never for one moment mistook 
it for being more than it really is. 

“For that moment of your recovery of your- 
self I shall patiently wait, and am meanwhile 
yours in unalterably loyal kindness. 

“Lena Betz.” 

When Werner read this letter, he foamed with 
rage. Everything in it was offense to him. Its 


246 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


purport was trial enough ; but thaft was aggra- 
vated by the precision with which every letter 
in it was formed, and every sentence punctu- 
ated. And the surname in the signature was a 
perfect climax of injury. A wretched, factitious 
thing, he declared to himself, that letter was; 
cold, a piece of patchwork trying to have a 
character of its own, and failing miserably. 
Absolutely clear that it did not represent the 
writer’s full mind, and the conflict which had 
certainly gone on there ! No, all that had been 
cunningly omitted. And the document was, on 
the whole, a wretched jumble of sincerity and 
insincerity. 

Well, well! A woman who could make no 
better reply than that to the glowing words she 
had received from him was simply not the wo- 
man he had taken her for. She was a woman 
incapable of love, radically incapable! What 
she was capable of was just this, and only this : 
J ealousy and the electric state of the atmosphere 
might, for a moment, cause her to lose her head. 
But when the air had cooled down a little, she 
could cool down too, and go back to those cold 
regions of rationality where she lived and moved 
and had her proper being. That had been his 
idea of her all along, in reality ; he had always 
felt that she was not capable of any such passion 
or enthusiasm as would take her off her feet, and 
keep her there ; that she was a mere creature of 
prudences and scruples, bound up with the pe- 
dantical, the conventional and the traditional. 
Else, and Else over and over again! Heavens 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


247 


and earth ! As though it had not been a hard 
thing to him, too, that Else would have to be 
hurt in all this. Of course it was a hard thing! 
But he had not hesitated for a single moment! 
What was the hurting of any woman, nay, what 
was any' crime — what men call crime — when 
weighed in the balance with the sacred rights of 
Passion? While she — But what did she know 
of Passion? She had not the faintest idea of the 
meaning of that word, not the faintest ! 

Then he read the letter again; and his dis- 
pleasure with it even increased. Labored style ! 
far-fetched ideas! A sort of school-girl’s prize 
composition ! A disgusting document, from be- 
ginning to end, with its pitiful, small sentiments 
of decorum calling themselves morality ; its 
pitiless sense of self-satisfaction, showing broad 
upon every syllable of every line ; its insolent, 
Philistine assumption of superiority and of the 
right to warn and rebuke ! 

And, then, one particularly ugly and hateful 
thought occurred to him, as a climax to all this 
raving : Else — Else indeed ! Else was nothing 
but a pretext. The real reason why she thrusts 
me away like this is that she has no mind to 
break with Enzendorff ! The explanation of that 
engagement I gave myself was perfectly ridicu- 
lous. She is incapable of any such exalted ideas, 
quite incapable! 

The unhappy man spent many hours, partly in 
wild ravings of this kind, and partly in the at- 
tempt to determine upon some line of action. 
After forming and discarding all sorts of con- 


248 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


tradictory resolutions, he suddenly made up his 
mind, or, rather, the sudden impulse came on 
him, to drive to the Villa Brancaleone. He 
would see Lena, and hurl all his immense and 
overwhelming contempt in her face, beg her for- 
giveness for the enormous error he had fallen 
into in his overestimate of her character, and 
take his formal and respectful leave of her for- 
ever ! This impulse was too strong for his pres- 
ent powers of resistance, and he actually gave 
way to it. But he was afraid that Lena might 
deny herself to him if he went to work in the 
ordinary way. So he stopped his carriage before 
he arrived at the villa, and sent it away. Then 
he walked up the terraces of the garden, and 
made straight for the house. 

In spite of the storm of the day before, the 
sultriness and heaviness of the air had not at all 
diminished, indeed it was even more oppressive 
and exhausting than it had been. And there 
was something in the thick, cloggy vapor that 
rose from the ground that seemed almost to stun 
like a blow. 

Werner went up the steps leading into the 
garden-room. The door was wide open. And 
there he saw Lena. She was seated at her writ- 
ing-table, and the pallor of death was on her 
face. She had a pen in her hand, and she was 
moving it in an uncertain manner over the 
paper, apparently without being able to form a 
single letter. She could not find the words she 
wanted ; that was clear. To whom could she be 
writing? Werner began to boil over with jeal- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


249 


ousy. He stepped in, and placed himself ab- 
ruptly in front of her. She started, and fell back 
in her chair. Then, for some seconds, the two 
looked in each other’s eyes without uttering a 
single word. 

“To whom are you writing?” he managed at 
last to stammer out. 

“To Enzendorff,” she murmured, in low, dull 
tones ; her voice was as the voice of a woman 
quite spent. 

“Indeed! To Enzendorff? Of course, to En- 
zendorff!” he said, with suppressed passion. “It 
is as I supposed ! Everything has to go on in 
the old rut. That too!” 

“Werner!” she said — and what reproach was 
in her voice ! — “have you come here only for the 
purpose of insulting me?” 

‘ 4 1 have come to offer you my congratulations 
on the fine feelings and virtuous sentiments with 
which your remarkable letter is replete, and, for 
the rest, to request your forgiveness for the ex- 
ceedingly foolish and hasty letter of mine which 
occasioned that reply!” 

“You are perfectly right in thinking that your 
letter to me is something for which you require 
and ought to ask forgiveness. There is no doubt 
of that!” 

“Yes; it was indeed folly, the worst of folly 
to write to you like that!” he said, in bitter 
tones. “I really don’t know which of the two I 
ought to laugh at more bitterly for their share 
in the transaction, myself or you! Here am I, 


250 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


flinging my heart at your feet, ready, nay eager, 
to tear down everything that stands between me 
and you, however loved, however dear hereto- 
fore! And what do you do with it? Simply 
make a pedestal of it all, for yourself to stand on 
in pharisaic superiority ! And you send me an 
answer which would have done honor to a well- 
trained little boarding-school girl!” 

She still maintained rigid silence. 

His jealous wrath increased with every word 
he uttered. “All that is very fine, very noble, 
very honorable, no doubt!” he hissed. “But it 
would, perhaps, be still finer, still more honora- 
ble, if it were not, at the same time, so tremen- 
dously prudent, rational, worldly-wise!” 

And still she said no word. 

“Is the letter you are sending to your fiance 
of the same color and tone as the one I have 
been honored with?” he asked, as cuttingly as 
he could. 

For a moment she hesitated. Then, with a 
sudden movement, she held out to him the let- 
ter she had been engaged in writing when he 
came in. 

“Dear Prince — It is hard, very hard for me 
to say what I find needs must be said. But as I 
find I have to dissipate an illusion, and occasion 
you a disappointment, it is better the thing 
should be done with the least possible delay. 

“You have made it the one indispensable con- 
dition of a union with yourself, that I should 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


251 


become a member of the Catholic Church. And 
I find it impossible — ” 

“Lena!” cried Werner. He fell at her feet, 
and covered her hands with kisses. And when 
she withdrew her hands, he carried the hem of 
her dress to his lips and kissed that, 

“Leave me!” she cried, thrusting him vio- 
lently away from her, and rising from her chair. 
“For God’s sake, leave me! You have not the 
faintest idea what pain and grief you cause me ! 
Yesterday, when 1 suddenly lost my senses and 
my self-control, in my anxiety for you, and you 
carried me back to the house in your arms, and 
went away at once, without a word, I respected, 
I reverenced, I worshiped you almost, as a being 
more divine than human. And I should have 
been grateful, thankful — oh, how grateful and 
thankful ! — if I could have died that moment with 
the memory of that thought and that moment in 
my heart, with nothing, nothing to come be- 
tween that and my last breath ! And now you 
have spoiled it all ! Is it possible, can it be pos- 
sible, that you do not see what unspeakable grief 
you cause me with every look you give me, with 
every movement you make, with every word you 
say to me, with every word you have written 
me!” 

“Oh! put it all in one word — with my love!” 
he murmured, standing up and raising himself 
to his full height. 

“Well, yes, then, if you will have it! With 


252 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


your love, yes, with your love!” she groaned. 
“Are you absolutely incapable of seeing what 
humiliation the whole affair is, in my eyes?” 

“Humiliation?” he repeated, in exasperated 
tones. 

“Yes!” she cried, passionately. “Humilia- 
tion ! How can I help being humiliated by the 
turn things have taken? Do you suppose I meant 
this ? Ho, no, no ! quite different is that which 
I did mean, did intend, did hope for, pray for, 
would have worked for! My purpose was to 
impart strength for action and nobility in motive 
to all the fine qualities lying fallow in you so 
long. And what have I done? Dragged them 
down to an even lower level, and, perhaps, per- 
manently weakened their fiber. My purpose was 
to wake into activity the conscience, the moral 
purpose which I saw enveloped in a darkness 
that I believed might be dispelled. And what 
have I done? I have, perhaps, annihilated that 
conscience, I have paralyzed that moral purpose ; 
so utterly annihilated, so paralyzed it that the 
conception of duty seems to be torn up in you to 
the very root. For how, otherwise, can you 
offer, in cold blood, to do for me what you know 
well 1 would never let you do for any other wo- 
man, if I could prevent it, to destroy your dear, 
sweet domestic life, and tread everything that is 
or should be sacred to you in the dust ! Oh ! it is 
horrible, horrible! simply horrible !” 

“It is horrible to you, for one very simple 
reason that you do not love me!” he murmured. 
“If you loved me, you would find it al.1 simple, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


253 


natural, inevitable enough. But you do not love 
me; not one whit!” 

She looked full in his face, and in her eyes 
there was wrath, exasperation, at the tortures 
he was inflicting on her. But with these feelings 
those eyes were not exclusively filled. There 
was something else in them, too; something 
which seemed to belong to regions with which 
words have nothing to do, the same look, spring- 
ing from the depths of woman’s mystic soul, the 
look of yearning and of grief, which he had seen 
there for the first time when the lightning-flash, 
literally, the lightning-flash, came to betray the 
workings of her soul to him. “Indeed, you 
think so, do you? I do not love you! Not one 
whit!” she repeated. “Oh! what I would not 
give, what would I not give, if I could so lie to 
myself, lie with such skill, perseverance, strength, 
as to persuade myself that those words of yours 
are true! But I have not that strength. I can- 
not lie, to myself or to you. That strength de- 
parted from me at the moment when I came out 
of the stupor of unconsciousness at the tomb of 
Metella. Up to that moment, I never realized 
what was going on within me, I did not or I 
would not. But since then I have known it only 
too well. And I am a horror to myself. Why, 
for what reason did I affiance myself with En- 
zendorff? To raise an impassable barrier between 
me and — oh ! it was a crime, a crime, a crime, to 
drag a gentleman, a man of honor, into this mis- 
erable vortex in which I am struggling ! But I 
did it in the very wildness of panic terror, clutch- 


254 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


ing at the first support that came to hand, lost, 
irresponsible, unaccountable creature that I felt 
myself to be! And why am I dissolving that 
engagement now? Dissolving it in this abrupt, 
unfeminine way? Because I would rather suffer 
crucifixion than caresses from t v unfortunate 
man; because I couldn’t endure the faintest ap- 
proach to them from him, could not, could not, 
could not!” 

She had risen from her chair before saying 
this, and, up to that moment, she had remained on 
her feet. But now she was quite exhausted, and 
sank back again into her chair. Werner seated 
himself too, and drawing his chair a little nearer 
to her, placed his hand on the arm of the one she 
occupied, and said, almost in a whisper : 4 ‘ This 
is a serious sacrifice you are making on my ac- 
count. Surely I shall not be wholly forbidden 
to do what in me lies to compensate you for it in 
some small measure!” 

“It is no sacrifice at all, and certainly it is not 
made on your account. It is merely something 
that I cannot do otherwise than throw overboard, 
in order that I may feel my misery a little less 
acutely,” she replied, roughly. 

“But say what you will, I know what a bur- 
den you are taking upon yourself for the future, 
in breaking off this engagement,” he said, still 
in the same low tones; and now his hand went 
softly to her shoulder. 

“I know it, too,” she said, “know it perfectly 
well. I shall be an impossible creature here- 
after, everywhere, and with everybody. The 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


255 


world will be sure to see some reason discredita- 
ble to me in the breach with Enzendorff, and 
those who have envied, or do envy me, will take 
their revenge to the full. Do you suppose that I 
care one straw for that sort of thing? True, no 
corner will be dark enough, no solitary place 
solitary enough, for me to creep into for a long 
time to come. And then — but how can I tell to- 
day what may come hereafter? The one thing 
that so bows me down to the very ground is 
thinking of the ignoble proceeding I have been 
guilty of with Enzendorff. His conduct has been 
that of a gentleman. And the best thing that 
can be said of mine, is that it has been that of a 
mad woman. And that’s a weak word for it. I, 
who was so proud of the uprightness of my con- 
duct, who deemed myself so trustworthy, so actu- 
ated by rational motives only ! Where has that 
all gone to? Werner, Werner! You have made 
me poor indeed!” 

He took one of her hands in his, and stroked 
it gently. “I hope that it will be my privilege 
to make you very rich yet, beloved, noble, in- 
comparable woman!” 

She withdrew her hand sharply. “Why do 
you persist in torturing me so? ” she groaned. 
“Surely you must see that I cannot bear any 
more!” 

“Torture you? I — you!” he repeated. “Why, 
Lena, you cannot possibly imagine that I shall 
not strain every nerve to bring you to see the 
position we are in with the clear eyes of reason, 
as I see it? A feeling such as each of us enter- 


256 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


tains for the other, it is quite out of the question 
to submit to, or measure by the standards of con- 
ventional duty, quite. It is a feeling that needs 
must burst through all the opposing barriers of 
the vulgar world ; and it is right, duty, law, of 
itself and for itself and to itself alone!” 

“Right, duty, law! Where do you find any 
trace of all these in this matter?” asked Lena. 

‘ ‘ Such passion as ours has its rights, is a right 
in itself, and that right consists in the irresisti- 
ble force by which it is animated, and which 
lays upon those who entertain it sovereign com- 
mands!” he cried. “Duty! Duty in and for 
itself ! That is a dull, flat, stale, cold, unprofita- 
ble word. It is no more than a cunning inven- 
tion of the average man, intended for the use of 
average men ; and it has no higher meaning or 
purpose than to serve as an outwork protecting 
the pitiful institutions of average men against 
the uprising of that which is at once natural 
and eternal, and therefore Divine ! Oh, Lena ! 
my angel, my queen ! It is nothing but sheer 
misapprehension of the sacred, God-like purpose 
of the upper powers, speaking so loudly in this 
strong drawing of each of us to the other, that 
makes you struggle against the measures neces- 
sary to unite our lives ! All the baffled yearn- 
ings of my life have had but one aim in them; I 
know it now ; a latent aim it has been, an aim 
whereof I was not conscious ; but now that aim 
stands revealed to me unmistakably. And that 
one aim, of all these weary years, has been — 
you ! I have had to traverse long, painful, de- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS, 


257 


vious, circuitous paths to reach both it and you. 
But I stand before it at last, at last ! And would 
you, can you drive me away from you, drive me 
back into the desolation, the emptiness of the 
life I have hitherto been leading? It is sad to 
have to hurt Else, I know it well. But Else will 
know how to find consolations for herself, after 
a season. But for us there never would be, never 
could be, any sort of consolation whatever ! As 
long as we draw the breath of life, we should 
waste, waste, waste with longing for each other, 
though we were to be divided from each other 
by the widest oceans. My marriage was nothing 
but an error, a grievous error ; I have never been 
happy ; and, though I have done my best, in all 
honor, and in every way I could think of, to make 
Else happy, I never have succeeded in doing so. 
And, now, I put it to you : Is it right that I 
should go on dragging the chain of that unsatis- 
fying relation about me? Is it not a ten times 
more worthy course to let in the light of truth 
upon the whole situation, to dissolve my present 
relations and begin a new life? You tell me 
yourself that you would rather die the worst of 
deaths than endure Enzendorff’s caresses; and 
yet you would have me, whose heart is filled full 
of you, return to Else ! In my eyes, that would 
be the very height of immorality ! Lena, you 
cannot but see that I am right! Speak, for 
Heaven’s sake ! If you do not agree with me, 
at all events, refute me!” 

Again he took her hand and kissed it; and 
again she withdrew it. But he felt that it was 


258 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


now done more hesitatingly, and that it was 
hard, hard to her to have to do it. 

“Refute you!” she murmured. “Oh, I can- 
not refute you ! I cannot even argue at all about 
such sophisms as that. I never could, even when 
I was fully mistress of such little intelligence as 
I ever did possess ; and now I am not mistress of 
it. I am so very tired ; and it seems to me as if 
I were beginning to wander a little — here. ’ ’ She 
put her hand to her forehead. “But there’s one 
thing I do know, and that I never, never will 
give up. One has no right to destroy another’s 
happiness to win happiness for one’s self!” 

“Then there is one thing more that I have to 
say to you, and which I must and will say!” 
cried Werner. “My union with you would be 
no deviation from the path of truth ; nay, it would 
be a return to it. I loved you before ever I set 
eyes on Else. My marriage was neither more 
nor less than unpardonable unfaithfulness to you, 
was and always has been!” 

A strange alteration took place in Lena when 
he told her that. Now, for the first time, since 
he first came into the room that day, she turned 
her face deliberately and full upon him. Her 
eyes shone with an almost supernatural light 
that made the death-like pallor of the rest of the 
face even more remarkable. 

“You loved me as early as that, after our very 
first meeting?” she asked, and her voice was 
fuller than it had been. 

“Yes, after our very first meeting. From the 
moment that you pressed your dear lips on my 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


259 


forehead, my heart has been filled with love for 
you. My engagement with Else was the result 
of accident and circumstances to which I had 
simply to submit, seeing no alternative. But I 
never loved anybody but you, never did, never 
shall ! The night before my wedding I could do 
nothing but dream of you. And you, Lena? 
You?” He stopped short. 

“I!” She rose now from her seat, and drew 
herself to her full height. Never was her beauty 
so great as at that moment, in spite of her death- 
like pallor and the traces of the tears upon her 
face. “I!” Her voice had a strange, veiled, 
tender tone in it which he had never before 
heard. She seemed to shiver as though some 
sensation of delight ran through her, as she 
went on to say: “If your courage, your spirit 
had been then on a level with your love; if, 
then, you had come and unlocked the door of the 
dark prison-house I was condemned to live in, 
and called me out into the sunshine, I would 
have followed you without a word, never caring 
even to ask whither in the whole wide world you 
chose to lead me ! I would have been content to 
be a drawer of water, a hewer of wood, to serve 
you, and * held myself, in so doing, richer than 
any queen! There was no sacrifice that I could 
have made for you which I should not have 
thought the rarest of privileges ; and I should 
have held it mere grace and gift of yours that 
you had given me the privilege of making it ! 
Aye, if you had come then ! But you did not 
come; you did not come!” 


260 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“Nay, nay, nay! I have but lost some time 
on the way. I am here; I am come!” he cried. 

“It is not the same thing. It is not, and it 
cannot be ! Upon your head be it that there was 
that delay! Upon your head be it that you have 
thought, that you still seem to think, one time 
is as good as another with woman ! And now, 
it is for you to see how you can hereafter settle 
this great account with yourself ! I cannot help 
you. And, I beseech you, torture me no more 
in seeking any further assistance from me in 
doing it, as you have been doing!” 

“Lena, Lena! all that is mere madness. I 
can, I will, make it all good, if you will but 
grant me the means!” 

“I? Grant you the means! How, indeed, 
now?” Her tones were very bitter. 

“I will show you how! Why, that’s what I 
am trying to do, what I want to do ! I have 
been advising about the matter with a person 
with whom I have been intimate for years. 
There may, very probably, be a good deal of agi- 
tation and excitement, at first, perhaps ; but all 
that will soon pass over. Else will reconcile her- 
self to the position. The world will cease to talk. 
The grass will grow over the affair ; it grows 
over everything!” 

“Yea!” she murmured. “It is even as you 
say. The grass grows over everything; even 
such hours as I have had to go through this 
day!” 

She seemed quite broken. She resisted still. 
The spirit of resolution in her was strong still. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


261 


But the fire and passion seemed to have gone out 
of her resistance. Gentleness was the only- 
weapon left her in that hour of weakness. And 
her gentleness had always been more effective 
with him than her fire. She had recourse to that 
weapon now. 

“Yes, that may be true. Else may possibly 
come to find in misery a second nature, and to go 
about looking like other women, with the broken 
heart in her breast. But you, dear Werner, you 
and I ! We never could be reconciled to the sit- 
uation. We never could be happy, never ! Some 
portion of our pain we should be free from soon, 
soon ; only too soon would the wild longing for 
each other be quenched. But our regret, our 
repentance, our remorse, these would last for- 
ever. Therefore I beg you, I beseech you, I im- 
plore you, return to Else and take with you all 
I dare give, my blessing and my truest, warm- 
est sympathy in the struggle that is as much 
mine as yours ! I shall find some way of making 
my life endurable; and you — you will find a 
place of peace, though it may take you long, 
long to do it, in the post of duty which you dare 
not surrender ! That duty will be hard to you, 
for some time, hard indeed; I see it only too 
well. But you will surely do it, and you will 
find a satisfaction in that duty, at last, which 
nothing else in the world could afford you in 
such fullness and completion. And the day may 
come, will come, when we may meet again with- 
out the deadly fear of tempting each other to 
wrong. It is far off, that day, but it will come, 


262 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


it will come ! And then — then — then, perhaps, 
I may find some little corner in your house, some 
corner like that I did have for a brief while, and 
you and Else may receive me and cherish me as 
the friend who loves you all so well. And per- 
haps the next time I may prove more deserving 
of that confidence than I was before. I will look 
forward to that time during the long years of 
separation which we must impose upon ourselves 
for that slow and painful preparation which 
alone can fit us for meeting once again. And 
now go, go, go, in God’s name! Go, and God 
be with you ! If it is hard for you to leave me, 
He knows how hard it is for me. to send you 
away!” 

“I cannot, Lena! I cannot, I cannot!” he 
cried. His very brain seemed to reel under the 
pressure of this gentleness and sweetness. Every 
nerve in his frame vibrated and quivered with 
suppressed tenderness. “Every word of dis- 
missal that you utter only binds me to you with 
tenfold strength; every word shows me what I 
should lose if I were to give up you. I cannot 
do it, Lena ! Dear, sweet Lena ! My angel, my 
queen !” He wept like a child. Both her hands 
were in his hands; she could not help it; and he 
covered them with his kisses. “I beseech you, 
I implore you, look at things as they are. Your 
spirit of sacrifice is beautiful, beautiful, exceed- 
ingly. But it is exaggeration! It is against 
nature. God has made us for each other. The 
barriers between us are frail, rotten things, the 
miserable, paltry work of man!” 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


263 


“The barriers between you and me consist in 
the confidence that Else has placed in me!” she 
said; “and those barriers neither God nor Devil 
can tear down !” Then, withdrawing her hands 
gently, very gently, from his, she folded them 
with a gesture of unspeakable entreaty, and with 
an anguish in her eyes that haunted him thence- 
forth forever, aye even to his deathbed, she said 
in a very broken, very soft, very gentle voice : 
‘ ‘ W erner, that day when your divorce from Else 
is pronounced shall be my last ! My own hand 
shall see to that!” She began to tremble vio- 
lently, and her voice, as she uttered these last 
words, sounded as if the death she spoke of were 
very near. Her senses, in truth, had all but left 
her ! And the little strength and consciousness 
that was left to her she used for a few final 
words. “What I owe Else I never can forget,” 
she stammered. “What I owe myself I might 
possibly forget. But for God’s sake spare me! 
Spare me, for God’s sake ! It would be no joy 
to you; and to me it would be ruin, destruc- 
tion, despair ! Therefore I entreat you yet this 
once! Go, go go!” 

He looked up once again into those eyes of 
hers, with their fixed, glassy stare, eyes filled 
with more than the terrors of death ; and he 
hesitated for an instant. Then he rose to his 
feet, knelt at hers for one moment, pressed his 
lips to her hand, and left her. 


264 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


CHAPTER XLV. 

He left her. And, with the full heat of the 
day beating down upon his .head, he traversed 
the whole length of the street in the direction of 
the Arch of Constantine. 

A heavy weight seemed to be attached to each 
of his feet. He stood still, from time to time, 
as though it were impossible for him to stir a 
step further. All that had that day happened 
to him was stupefaction, astonishment, despair; 
such a descent into the pit of anguish as he had 
never imagined possible in his moments of wild- 
est imagination of such things. 

And over that Villa Brancaleone which he 
had just left there hovered still the awful De- 
moniac Influence, Magic, Power — by whatsoever 
name it was to be called. It was as though 
some Unnamable, Monstrous Thing, baleful, 
powerful, irresistible, was there waiting for 
victims to fill its hungry maw withal. 

And alas! If there is one moment when 
woman is utterly weak, it is that which follows 
the moment of her apparently most secured tri- 
umph. 

Lena lay back there in the chair, wherein she 
had sunk in misery and utter exhaustion. 

He was gone ; she herself had sent him away. 
And now she will never see his face again, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


265 


never, never! Yes, indeed! She had spoken to 
him of times, far-off times, when once again 
their hands and eyes might meet. But she had 
done it only in her despair, and for his sake; 
done it that lie might have some strength, some 
comfort, some consolation to support him and 
to feed on during those long, weary days and 
years of travel through desolation which were 
before them both. But, as for herself, such 
hopes or prospects were but figments of the 
brain. That distant time, when their souls 
should be regenerated and their lives once more 
united, when passion should have burned itself 
oht, and friendship’s safer, surer and more last- 
ing warmth alone remain, seemed to her so far 
off, so unlikely, so incompatible with her sense 
of the failure of all powers in her being, that 
they were no more than distant mists on which 
nothing stronger than a vision could be built. It 
was no more than if she had told him, as she 
now told herself, that there could be no meeting 
for them hereafter at all in this world of bitter 
trial ; none, ever, except as disembodied spirits 
in Paradise. 

% Yes, he was gone; and it was she who had 
sent him away ! In those first moments after her 
eyes held him no more, only for as long as a cry 
from her lips could have reached and brought 
him back to her feet, her anguish was merged 
in pride that she had been heroic enough thus to 
say farewell forever to earthly bliss. But those 
first moments of exaltation were passed. Her 
pride was spent with the immediate and terrible 


266 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


need for its exercise. And all that was left in 
her heart was that terrible yearning for the loved 
one’s love which is the last feeling to be expelled 
from the breast of woman. 

Yes, indeed, if she could imagine, could have 
imagined, that the dangers she had so valiantly 
fought against were still not far from her, she 
could have gathered her forces for the battle 
again, and chained up the dangerous creature 
pacing up and down in its cage within her bosom. 
But the danger, she told herself, was near her 
no longer. It was gone far away, gone never 
to return. What need, then, to add to all the 
other multiplied tortures of that dreadful hour 
the tortures of self-chastisement and self-re- 
straint? These were surety not necessary now. 
Why had she not even allowed herself — and him 
— one kiss, one poor solitary kiss, before they 
took eternal leave of each other? That would 
have been no robbery of any of those rights of 
another soul which she had sworn to herself to 
respect. Oh, merciful Father ! merciful God ! 

The poor creature was like some soldier ex- 
hausted in long fight, who lays aside the armor 
and weapons now too heavy for him to endure. 
And through the open door there came that 
frightful blast of the sirocco, and the bitter 
mockery of that odor of the orange flowers ! 

She began to sob. The little remnant of will 
and reasoning power still left in her began to 
fail altogether ; a cloud seemed to come over her 
material vision, and the firm outlines of purpose 
and spiritual thought faded away into a sort of 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


267 


vapor. And then there came, nearer and nearer, 
the great Darkness wherein the lines dividing 
right from wrong from each other in the soul 
tremble, tremble, and tend to disappear. 

She pressed her cheek against the back of the 
chair wherein she sat cowering. Her tired eyes 
closed in a sort of counterfeit of sleep, and her 
tired soul began to dream. 

She saw herself in Eltville again. She was 
in the early prime of youth once more. She loves 
him, she yearns for him. And between them 
there is no barrier. There is no Else ; there are 
no children. The door opens. He steps up to 
her. She sees the youth, as she had that first 
time in her life seen him on the banks of Khine, 
with his tall, supple young form, and the large 
eyes that spoke so eloquently of the Idealist’s 
soul. “I lost my way on the road hither, and 
that is why I am so late!” he exclaimed. “But, 
thank God, I am here at last, my angel, my 
queen!” * 

Suddenly she started up and tried to shake off 
her dream. But alas ! Her delirium she could 
not and did not try to shake off. And Werner, 
the real Werner, stood before her! 

She looked up at him with eyes still scarcely 
awake, still with the dream in them. Conscious- 
ness struggled to break out of the twilight in 
which it was wrapped. But it was too weak to 
endure the fullness of the light. Twice did her 
hands move about her with the helpless move- 
ment of a creature in desperate illness, or trying 
in vain to get rid of some invisible and terrible 


268 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


burden crushing it to earth. And then, almost 
before he opened his arms to her, she had fallen 
helplessly on his breast. 

******** 

It was over. The Lena who was so full of 
pride in herself, so stern in self-conquest, so tri- 
umphant over the dangers of all her unprotected 
years, has, for the moment, vanished from this 
earth. The Angel had lost her wings, the scepter 
had been wrested from the hands of the Queen. 
Her power was broken. Her crown lay in the 
dust. 

Again did Werner traverse that avenue of 
plane-trees w.hich ends at the Arch of Constan- 
tine. 

Such a little time before, such a very little 
time, and he had come along that road with the 
sense of defeat on him, but a defeat of which, at 
the bottom of his heart, he was proud. Now he 
traversed that road once again with the sense of 
a triumph, but the triumph had the bitterness 
of Death in its flavor, and bowed him down to 
the very earth with shame. 

And a terrible, complex shame it was. Shame 
for the creature that had yielded to him ; but 
shame, terrible, withering shame, for himself, 
that he had not spared one so weak, so spent, so 
helpless, as he had only too well seen her to be. 

Strange, with what swiftness the heart of 
man can suffer transformation, precisely in 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


269 


that one of its impulses, passions, affections, 
which is, of all, the most powerful. 

His feeling for the good and great woman 
whom he had so deeply injured had been one of 
almost insane passion ; and it would have been 
marked by all the levity and instability of pas- 
sion, but for the . respect, amounting indeed to 
veneration, which the grandeur of her character 
had, all along, inspired him with. But now, 
the feeling which filled his agonized heart, 
as he dragged himself back to the center of 
Rome, was one from which the fires of passion 
had suddenly departed. That feeling was one 
compounded of compassion, tenderness, and the 
painful sense of responsibility of a cruel wrong, 
which he had now to expiate by remorse, and 
compensate for by some course of conduct not 
yet defined to his mind, but which he must cer- 
tainly adopt. 

That feeling of respect and reverence was ex- 
tinguished, and, alas! could never be revived 
again. The flood of passion had reached its 
height, and the inevitable ebb was come. And 
with the ebbing of that tide came to him, at last, 
clear revelation and perception of the cruel and 
widespread ruin wrought by the onslaught of 
its raging and remorseless waters. 

One thing was strange ! Whereas his thoughts 
had, till this present hour of reckoning, been ab- 
sorbed, with an almost maniacal absorption, by 
Lena, and Lena alone, now they left her and 
took a quite different direction. They swept 
back, by some force he could not measure, to the 


270 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


place where his wife and children were looking 
for his return to them. Those long years which 
he had spent by Else’s side, and which made up 
that life of “dullness and desolation” he had, 
but a few hours ago, so bitterly denounced to 
Lena, suddenly re-assumed their former familiar 
aspect. They re-appeared as something almost 
impossible to renounce, sweet, dear, indispen- 
sable. 

Else’s figure and character came before him 
once again in all the force of their simple, un- 
conscious goodness; invested with that halo of 
pure self-sacrificing love, so free from all tinge 
of morbid passion, which were so peculiarly her 
own. Purity, in its most sacred form, seemed 
to breathe from the image which thus came up 
to his repentant memory. An immeasurable 
longing for her presence came upon him, that he 
might go down on his knees to her and rest his 
tired head upon her lap. 

And in his ears came sounding the little trip- 
ping steps of his children. They were coming 
to the door of his work-room to tell him to come 
to join the family meal, which was ready and 
waiting only for him to come. And he heard 
again the babbling of the little soft voices, all 
going together, before they reached his room. 
And wee little Dinchen came toddling up to 
him, climbed up in his lap, and put her small, 
warm arm round his neck; and her sweet, fresh, 
child’s breath came upon his cheek as she whis- 
pered: “Papa, I’ve been helping to cook dinner 
to-day for you.*” 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


271 


Trifling things, these, very trifling indeed! 
But how important, to that wayward heart of 
his, he had never yet realized. 

Then he remembered one time when little Liz- 
zie had fallen sick, and it was feared that an 
inflammatory attack of croup was supervening. 
The physician hail strictly enjoined that she was 
on no account to be allowed to fall asleep, or, at 
least, she was not to be allowed to go fast asleep. 
He took his seat by the little one’s side — she was 
propped up as high as they could manage with 
pillows, embroidered pillows they were, he re- 
membered — and he tried to make her forget 
everything in play with him. In emergencies of 
this kind, he was much better able to deal with 
the children than Else. He heard the little 
thing’s sweet, small, ringing laugh, and then 
the weak, hoarse cough which so severely tried 
the little breast. The little eyelids wanted so badly 
to close over the tired eyes ; and she whimpered 
so pitifully because they would not let her go 
quite off to sleep, and he kept her as much awake 
as he could possibly do, with all sorts of fond 
little jests and jokes. Else was standing at the 
foot of the bed, pale and exhausted with three 
sleepless nights ! She was rubbing her eyes, and 
looking at him so tenderly that it was quite 
affecting. Oh, how it all came back to him 
now ! He did his best to persuade her to go to 
bed. She gave him a kiss, and whispered some 
words of love to him, and then did as he wished. 
But hardly had she fallen asleep when little Liz- 
zie began to cough again. And before he could 


272 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


look round Else had jumped up and. was at Liz- 
zie’s bed, in her night-dress and with her hair 
all about her shoulders. He saw her pretty, bare 
feet shine white upon the carpet. 

Yes, those seven years of life together with 
Else now seemed to have about them a delicate 
aroma of tenderness, confidence, and all purest 
household joy. 

He had never realized how tender his affection 
for her and the children really had been, and 
was; how thoroughly he delighted in all the lit- 
tle things that gave her simple soul delight ; how 
much he suffered at any suffering of hers ; never 
realized it till now. 

And, now, he was going to take a knife and 
thrust it into Else’s breast; now he was to put 
away the children from him, as though they 
were not his at all! Now, he was to part with 
Else altogether, in order that he might be free 
to marry Lena! 

The magic, the charm, which had maintained 
Lena’s ascendency over him was shaken to its 
base, if not forever gone. It was simply this. 
He had been so long accustomed to regard her as 
a creature by whose being he had to regulate his 
own, and as the inferior does. regard the superior. 
She had stood so long on an eminence above him, 
up which he had to climb every time to reach 
her. How, then, could he at once accommodate 
his thought to a state of things in which he 
would have to reach down to her, instead of up 
to her? That sudden, vehement out-flame of 
passion in the unhappy woman which had caused 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


273 


all barriers between them to fall, had, at the 
same time, flung all the harmonious outlines of 
the pictures of her in his mind, with which he 
had been so long familiar, into a mass of discord 
and ruin. And then there came into play in his 
soul, in all their former force, and for his chas- 
tisement, those instincts of reserve, of shyness, 
of forbearance, of chivalry, of purity, of which 
the miserable theories of these later days had 
sapped, perhaps, some part of the foundations, 
but had left the main fabric and structure quite 
intact. 

A cold sweat gathered on his forehead, and 
his breath came with difficulty. He saw that 
he was bound hand and foot. After what had 
occurred, after all that he had said to Lena, he 
had no choice whatever. Lena had now a claim 
on him to divorce Else and marry her which it 
was simply out of the question to resist. And 
tlie thought was madness ! 

The soul that vacillates, as Werner’s always 
had done, is never a wholly sane soul. And this 
was a man who, as we have seen too well, had 
vacillated, always, between absolutely incompat- 
ible principles and impulses. If he did not now 
fall, if he was protected hereafter from falling, 
into the abyss of declared and utter insanity, he 
now came perilously near its brink. For he 
actually clenched his teeth, lest he should yield 
to the temptation of cursing the woman whom 
he had destroyed. 


274 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


CHAPTER XLYI. 

In those same dreadful moments Lena was 
seated in her room — the garden room — where 
he had left her. And now her perceptions and 
understanding came back to her in all their full- 
ness and force, so much surpassing as they did 
the average mental power of man or woman. 
Every thought that would now be passing 
through Werner’s mind was as clearly revealed 
to her as though he was there putting them into 
words. And she was able almost to divine the 
very words he would have put them into. She 
dug her nafls deep into her forehead and felt as 
though she must dash herself to pieces on the 
floor! Then, for minutes together, it was as 
though every nerve of sensibility had ceased to 
act, and she was a mere dumb lifeless log. And 
then came back the anguish of it all once more ; 
that scorching, burning feeling of self-contempt 
from which she knew there was nG refuge for 
her while life lasted. Then came the wild, 
convulsed, despairing feeling of a creature 
caught, as it were, in a net, and tearing at it 
to see if there was no way of escape ; then, the 
wild thought that it could not be, could not, 
could not, that such things could not have hap- 
pened to her, to her, to her! It must all be 
some bad, wicked, impossible dream. She must 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


275 


shake herself from the ugly sleep in which such 
dreams were possible! She must shake herself 
and wake up! 

But for her there was no waking. 

It seemed to her as though she were set to 
stand upon the highest point of some mountain, 
where there was -barely room for her feet, and 
where steep precipices were on every side of her 
— abysses the depth of which no human eye 
could gauge. She could stir neither backward 
nor forward. The slightest bodily movement 
turned her giddy at once, and might precipitate 
her into the gulf below. 

The Past? She dared not so much as think 
of it! Every word that had ever fallen from 
her lips and had had anything in it claiming 
kinship for its utterer with high and noble 
spirits, every aspiration she had ever sent up 
tt> higher regions, returned upon her now and 
scourged her as with whips and scorpions. 
Every drop of blood in her veins seemed on 
fire with remorse; every nerve quivered with 
the extremity of her horror at herself! 

Lena! She! A living woman! Absurd: 
there was no such being! A Lena there had, 
indeed, once been, but she was dead now. This 
was not that Lena, this pitiful, helpless, broken 
being, writhing like a crazed thing in her shame, 
clutching vainly at some shadow, some straw 
— of excuse or pretext, or illusion — to cover her 
up from the sight of herself, lest she break down 
wholly into delirium and madness. 

Excuse. Why, there was none! Nothing 


276 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


could qualify the hideousness of this moral 
ruin! If others thought such glozing possible, 
she could not ! 

It was, indeed, true that this unhappy wo- 
man’s strong sense of right and truth had 
always been one of the most distinguishing 
features of her fine mind. And that sense was 
never so inexorable as now, when it operated to 
destroy her in the intensity of her self-condem- 
nation. 

That sense of right, however, might have 
saved her in this supreme hour from herself. 
But her pride, a pride unchastened by that 
which alone chastens pride — religion — came to do 
its final work of ruin in these terrible moments 
of moral crisis. Even in the act of repudiating 
the bare idea that there could be any sort of ex- 
cuse for herself, the thought crossed her dis- 
tracted mind that excuses in plenty could be 
furnished in such case for others, perhaps; for 
the sort of women upon whom she had always 
looked down. But she did not want excuses. 
What she wanted was consolation ; and consola- 
tion she could find nowhere. And what she did 
not see or detect in herself, was that this strange 
mixture of pride in herself and of abhorrence for 
her offense deprived her of all hope of a restora- 
tion to any form of life in this world, and drove 
her on the way to self-destruction. 

She tried, indeed, to tear away her thoughts 
from the irrevocable that had befallen, and to 
form some idea or plan of what her life must be 
in the future years. And she failed miserably. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


m 


Do what she would to construct or imagine some 
sphere of existence, some personal or social re- 
lations for herself in the future, she could not 
realize the future woman in any sort of extrica- 
tion from the toils in which she was now writh- 
ing. Among the many thoughts which chased 
each other through* her troubled brain was that 
of a regular union with Werner. But, then, 
had she not said to him only a very few hours 
before: “The day of your divorce with Else will 
be my last; my hand shall see to that”? 

Her bosom was shaken with a laugh that had 
more than the bitterness of death in it — so bitter 
that it stuck in her throat and could not emerge 
from it in the shape of the sane laughter of tho 
happy. Why, it was the old Lena that had said 
that — the dead, murdered Lena, whom she dared 
no longer think of, who must be buried out of 
sight as soon as possible! This other Lena — the 
new Lena— could not be held responsible for such 
folly as that. This new Lena had nothing to do 
with sensitiveness, or justice, or kindness, or 
scruples of any kind. She must hew her way 
forward through thick and thin, at all hazards 
and at any cost of suffering to others. 

But there was one difficulty there. She knew 
as well as if he had re-appeared to put it in 
actual words to her — we have already said so — 
that her power over him was broken, that he had 
now 1 at last begun to reflect seriously upon the 
moral difficulties of the position. 

And what then? There should be no such 
reflection; she would not permit it! His only 


278 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


duty now was to her! She had a paramount 
right to all the rehabilitation he could give ! She 
had her rights to life and in life as well as 
others, and to hold her head at least as high 
as other heads, guilty heads that had never 
quailed or bowed under their guilt. 

Then, suddenly, there shot across this tangled 
web of her emotions a frightful sensation of 
powerlessness! She saw again the last look 
Werner had given her before he left her pres- 
ence. That look came before her eyes with a 
terrible vividness. It had been a look of com- 
passion, of embarrassment, of confusion, and 
perplexity. 

She threw her hands up to her face and cov- 
ered her eyes. Impossible, impossible now ! Not 
all the sacraments of all the altars in the world 
could give her once again the place she had held 
in the man’s feeling. It was over; it was all 
over! Passion indeed, passion of the lower type, 
might arise or be roused in him once more, but 
the noble, beautiful, beautifying, exalted, earlier 
sentiment — never, never, never! 

Better see him never again! Better hide her- 
self away from him, better fly from his face to 
the very ends of the world. 

Fly from him? She knew only too well that 
that was impossible for her now. That was be- 
yond her strength now; life was insupportable 
to her without him now ; she felt and saw only 
too well that only with him and from him now 
could she ever know the bare fragment of a 
shadow of consolation. 


0 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


2?9 


And again she dug her nails into her temples. 
And again the wild fancy crossed her that all 
this torture was no more than some evil dream, 
from which she must shake herself awake. But 
there was no waking for her ! 

There came a knock at the door; she started 
violently. 

It was Sulzer, who had a letter for her. 

A terrible pang shot through her, such a pang 
as might be inflicted if a red-hot knife were 
thrust in an open wound. It was from Else! 

Old Sulzer had delivered his letter, but seemed 
not to be able to get himself out of the room. 
Lena gave him a questioning glance in which 
there was some of her old imperiousness and 
impatience. 

The faithful old fellow said in low hesitating 
tones: “ Excellence, there is going to be dread- 
ful trouble. I fear it’s all wrong with this 
place. Marietta, the gardener’s daughter, is 
dying of the perniciosa. She must have got 
it yesterday when she was picking the orange 
flowers; and now they don’t give her twenty- 
four more hours to live! The kitchen maid is 
ill too. There’s not one of us who can be sure 
of his life from one moment to another, my 
lady! For God’s sake! If you only would 
leave and take us all away before we spend 
another night in the place!” 

“Well, well! I’ll leave to-morrow. You can 
tell Hina to pack up. I shall not dress for din- 
ner to-day.” 

Sulzer evidently wanted to say something 


280 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


more, but she motioned him to go so decidedly 
that he had no alternative. 

She was alone. Else’s letter seemed to scorch 
the fingers that held it. But it must be opened 
and read ! 

And when it was opened, what she read was 
this: 

“Dear Lena! — A hearty kiss and my sincere 
congratulations on your engagement. It is not 
exactly the future I had imagined for you, as 
you know, but if you are content I am happy. 
It does not matter to me how it is as long as 
you are happy; that’s all I want. 

“I wish I could say that I was so myself just 
now. But I cannot. The truth is that I am 
in very great misery. I was going to say that 
I don’t think I could possibly be in greater 
misery than I am at this moment. But I can- 
not; for, an hour ago, things were even much 
worse with me than they are as I now write. 

“It is frightful to have it suddenly revealed 
to one what a wretched poverty- struck creature 
one is, and humiliating to have to confess it 
outright. I can do it to you, though; and that 
shows how near and dear to my heart you realty 
are. There isn’t a living soul that I can say a 
word to about my trouble except yourself ; and 
yet, only an hour ago, when I told myself that 
I must pour it all out to you, I was afraid to do 
so; yes, afraid even of you, dear! But I have 
mentally asked your forgiveness for it; asked 
forgiveness with all my soul, for thinking for a 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


281 


•single instant that you would ever do anything 
to hurt me. 

“Do you know what all the people about me 
seem firmly to believe and Thilda has even gone 
so far as to hurl in my face? All through my 
married life, they will have it, I’ve been living 
under an illusion: Werner never really cared 
for me, and only took me out of compassion, 
because he saw I was so fond of him ! They 
even say that, before his engagement with me, 
he had an inclination for somebody else, and 
that he has never been able to shake it off. I 
try to think what other this could be, and I 
can’t come to any satisfactory conclusion at all. 
Thilda insists that it is Princess Orbanoff. But 
I cannot believe that. I can just imagine it 
possible that her beauty and her advances — they 
have been too clear to be mistaken — may have 
turned his head a little and made him forget me 
and the children for a moment. I can imagine 
her producing the same effect on a man as a 
little too much wine might do. But I cannot 
believe it possible that he would ever think of 
putting us away from him in cold blood and 
divorcing himself from me for such an un- 
worthy creature as that. And, according to 
what I am told, God help me! he is thinking 
of nothing less than that. I learn from Thilda 
that he has been consulting some lawyer, an 
early friend of his, as to the best measures to 
take for the purpose. 

“I cannot tell you what a state of mind I 
went into when they told me this. I left Thilda 


282 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


at once and fled home, and then — oh, it’s no use, 
I must tell you how frightfully unjust I’ve 
been in thoughts to you and Werner both! — 
then the dreadful thought came into my mind : 
It’s not for that Croatian woman he’s going to 
divorce me; if he’s thinking of such a thing at 
all, it’s for Lena! 

“Oh, my God, if such a thing were possible! 
Well, what would be the only thing left for me 
to do? Only one, and I should have done it at 
once if I could have thought it possible. I 
should have gone quietly away somewhere and 
managed to put an end to myself in some man- 
ner that would attract no remark; so that you 
and he might be free to marry and never have 
any reason for remorse. What else could I pos- 
sibly do? I never could think of entering into 
any struggle, any sort of competition with you ! 
You might very easily break my heart, Lena; 
but you couldn’t make me really angry with 
you. 

“Oh, but there are the children, you may 
say, and it would be my duty to live on, in any 
case, for their sake! Indeed not! In all that 
confusion and complication I should have been 
of no use whatever in bringing them up; I 
should simply not have had strength enough 
for any such thing. And to live, and yet not 
have them with me, would have been just as 
great an impossibility! You would have been 
far better able to take care of them after that. 
Oh, I had thought it all well over, and quite 
come to that conclusion, and I was even begin- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


283 


ning to consider how to set about carrying out 
my resolution — when your telegram came. I 
nearly fell to the ground with the sensation of 
relief; I shed tears of joy; yes, indeed, in spite 
of all the misery. I was in! And I was so 
ashamed of myself, so dreadfully ashamed! 
And in order to do all the penance I can for 
the ugly, hateful notion I had allowed to creep 
into my mind, I have made this frank and full 
confession. 

“And, as I have now done so, I cannot help 
entreating you to find out, if you possibly can, 
what it is that keeps Werner away from us so, 
with all that frightful fever about; and what 
is the meaning of this story about a letter that 
he has sent to his lawyer, if he really has sent 
any. Perhaps it all rests upon some misunder- 
standing. 

“In spite of my great affliction, I feel that 
strength and courage are coming back to me, 
and that I can command myself enough to begin 
a quite new life with him, if he will only let me. 
For, during these heavy weeks since we have 
been separated (they have been heavy, indeed, 
to me from the very first) I have come to see 
only too clearly that I have much to make up 
for as far as he is concerned, and that I have 
never taken life as seriously as I ought to have 
done as his wife. 

“I shall await your answer in great anxiety 
and suspense, and remain, warmly pressing you 
to my heart, and wishing you all happiness, 
once more, thine old, faithful — Else.” 


284 


CHORDS AND DISCOR'DS. 


She read through the letter twice, thrice, 
dwelling on every word. And presently the 
despair which had heated her pulses and coursed 
so violently through her veins gave way to a 
cold rigidity that might well be deemed the very 
precursors of dissolution. The letter operated 
to drive Werner altogether out of her thoughts, 
and her passion faded almost out of sight. Else 
became once again the foremost figure in her 
considerations. All else was mere valueless 
background. 

She thought she had loved Else before; but 
that feeling had been a weak one, indeed, com- 
pared with the adoration she now felt for the 
young wife. She felt herself a mere creature 
of the dust in comparison; and she could have 
crawled before her in that dust in admiration 
of the poor young creature’s simple greatness of 
soul. 

She longed to be able to take the being, whom 
she had involuntarily afflicted, in her arms and 
clasp her to her bosom with the tenderness, more 
like a mother’s than a friend’s of equal years, 
which she had always felt for her. Oh, that 
she could but whisper to her: “Let your dear 
heart be at rest, my darling, my darling! Do 
not fret; it will all come right! No one shall 
hurt you— not you , whoever is to be hurt!” 

But hardly had that thought crossed her soul 
when the agonizing reflection occurred to her 
that she was now forever unworthy of taking 
Else in her arms. Almighty God! What was 
to come of it all? 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


285 


Then — at the moment when that despairing 
question came across her mind — something black 
crossed the windows of the room. It was a 
priest, carrying the Host. He went in the 
direction of the little orange grove, and dis- 
appeared. She knew what it meant. He had 
been summoned to administer the last sacra- 
ments to the dying girl. 

Lena rose from her seat, raised herself to her 
full height and stood there in inflexible rigidity 
for a few moments. She took from her writing- 
table the letter for Enzendorff — of which she had 
written the few lines we know — and destroyed 
it. She then went to the threshold of the room, 
and stood there in hesitation for a few moments, 
covering her eyes with her hands. And then 
she said to herself, in a low voice: “J should 
have gone quietly aivay somewhere and man- 
aged to put an end to myself in some way that 
would attract no remark .” 

Her breathing seemed to fail her at this 
supreme moment. But she recovered herself 
directly; and she put her foot resolutely over 
the fatal threshold. And then she went quickly, 
taking the direction in which the priest had gone. 

But as soon as she had passed into the outer 
air there came over her a strange feeling of 
horror and alarm, and she shivered from head 
to foot. But this was by no means the fear of 
death, though it was enough to make every step 
further on that dreadful road a difficult thing. 
Every breath became almost a spasm. The day- 
light was now far spent, and the twilight deep- 


286 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


ened rapidly into darkness. And it seemed as 
if the air was filled not so much with dying light 
as with a fine gray dnst. And night came on 
with something of the rapidity of far more 
southerly latitudes than those she was in. It 
seemed to her as though everything in the 
whole world had been loosed, from its moor- 
ings, and that all the visible things about 
her were suddenly huddling each other away 
from the field of her vision. The leaves on 
the trees hung there as if dead with autumn, 
too dead to fail even to the ground. The sultry 
air was still with more than the stillness of 
the grave. Yet, in spite of that stillness, 
it had power to communicate a very horror of 
disturbance to the nerves; as though some bale- 
ful electricity were being generated in it by the 
flapping of the wings of birds of ill omen. And 
the odors of the orange flowers were so intense 
that the senses seemed to fail and sink under 
them. From some tavern, not far off on the 
main road, there came the thin sound of some 
guitar and zither, playing something modulat- 
ing abruptly into a melancholy minor, some 
wretched stuff which was made tragically im- 
pressive by an accompaniment of coarse shout- 
ing and laughter. There were drunken men 
there, trying to drown their fear of death in 
vulgar debauchery! An ugly thing, indeed! 
But one seen often enough in Cities of the 
Plague. 

Nine o’clock now! The hour at which Lena 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


287 


had been used, since those dreadful heats set in, 
to take her evening meal with Miss Sinclair. It 
had been no more than a sort of high tea for 
some time past. The burden and heat of the 
regular dinner had become an intolerable thing 
to the ladies. 

Nine o’clock ! 

Old Sulzer tried to find his mistress to an- 
nounce the meal. He went all over the house. 
She was nowhere to be found. 

Where, in Heaven’s name, could she be? 

Miss Sinclair was standing in the White Hall, 
which led from the drawing-rooms to the din- 
ing-room, where they always met before repair- 
ing to the latter apartment. But Lena did not 
appear. Nobody could tell what had become of 
her. Miss Sinclair sent to the stables to ask 
whether the countess had driven suddenly, with- 
out letting her know, into Rome. 

The priest passed by the house again with 
the Host, on his return from his melancholy 
errand. 

Some of the servants crowded about him. 
They were pale, and their teeth chattered with 
fear, as they asked : 

“How is Maruccia getting on?” 

“Maruccia is no more,” said the priest. “She 
was in her last agony by the time I reached 
her.” 

The people broke out in cries of grief and de- 
spair. The poor things were full of fear for 
their own lives, and their cry was full of that 
fear. The priest sighed deeply. “You had 


288 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


better look to it lest a much more terrible mis- 
fortune befall you all!” he said. “Your mis- 
tress was with Maruccia when I left the poor 
thing’s corpse. I tried to prevent it, and to get ^ 
her to come away with me. But I could not in- 
duce her. She had helped me, too, in consoling 
and strengthening the girl in her dying mo- 
ments, and she looked so wretchedly ill herself 
that I was quite frightened. She would not 
listen to- my entreaties to leave the place. The 
poor, sick creature had seized her hands in her 
death struggle — she was afraid to die, poor 
soul! — and the countess would not withdraw 
them.” 

The servants, male and female, looked at one 
another in speechless horror! 

Old Sulzer went, as fast as his poor old legs 
would carry him, round the orange grove to the 
gardener’s little cottage, to take his mistress 
away. 

They told him that she had left the place. He 
came back to the house as quickly as he pos- 
sibly could; but she was not there. He waited 
for another quarter of an hour in mortal anxi- 
ety. Then he said to himself that his unhappy 
mistress must have been struck by the fever 
and become delirious and lost herself somewhere. 
Could she possibly have gone through the orange 
grove? Almighty God! Why,, she might be 
there still ! 

A shudder ran through his poor old body 
from head to foot. But his own danger was no 
more to him than it would have been to a faith- 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS 


289 


ful dog in that crisis. And he went off to try 
and find and save her from what he knew well 
were the very shades of death. 

It was getting quite late. The moon had suc- 
ceeded in struggling into view out of the gray 
clouds filled with the sirocco; the flowers on 
the orange tree glimmered white; a quivering 
mist rose from and almost hid the soil. And 
there, with her feet enveloped in that mist, and 
all the lower part of her frame indistinct with 
it, Sulzer saw coming toward him, as if she were 
being carried on by the clouds, a woman robed 
in white. 

Her arms hung straight at her side. Her 
head was slightly thrown back. Her eyelids 
were all but closed, her lips and mouth half 
open. 

She went along very slowly, and, as she went, 
drew in, with deep, slow, regular draughts, that 
sweet and terrible Atmosphere and Odor of 
Death. 

That noise, so pitiful, so repulsive, from the 
tavern in the road, came sounding, sounding 
into the thick of that fatal grove. And, over 
and above those foul noises of earth, there 
hovered the clang of the Bell for the Dead, 
which they were ringing in some chapel in 
the Campagna for the dead girl. 


290 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


CHAPTER XLVII. 

The following morning Werner came down 
rather early to the breakfast-room of the hotel. 
His mind had not yet recovered from the confu- 
sion and perplexities in which it had been thrown 
by the events of the previous day. And he had 
been vainly endeavoring, throughout a sleepless 
night, to form some plans for the immediate 
future. When he got into that apartment, the 
only person he found there was that young man 
from Belgium, who had enlivened Lena’s last 
reception with his questionable musical perform- 
ances. 

“ Well, this is a pretty reign of terror here in 
Rome, just now, I must say!” the young Bel- 
gian exclaimed. His face wore the smile which 
seemed always to inhabit it; a beardless face it 
was, and smooth as an egg with the shell stripped 
off. “Have you heard the last nice piece of 
news? My servant has only just this moment 
told me all about it. He had been to the drug- 
gist to get me some eau de Cologne. Countess 
Retz is down with the perniciosa, and they say 
there’s no hope for her!” 

“Countess Retz! The perniciosa!” The words 
seemed to freeze on Werner’s lips. “It can’t be 
possible!” 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


291 


“Oh! there’s not a doubt of it. And, you 
know, the perniciosa strikes like a flash of light- 
ning. That Brancaleone Villa has a very bad 
name; and the countess, they say, has just gone 
the way to make sure of having it, with her 
frightful imprudence ! The gardener’s daughter 
was ill with it, and nothing would do but the 
countess must attend to the girl herself; and, 
besides that, she needs must go and patter about 
in that orange-grove there, which has got the 
nickname of the Wood of Death ; and after sunset, 
too ! Why, it was that very wood which was 
the death of the girl. If one didn’t know that 
the countess had the best of reasons for wishing 
to live — such fine prospects, you know — one 
would be almost inclined to fancy that she had 
thrown her life away willfully. Oh ! poor, dear 
countess! Three shivering fits, you know, and 
it’s all up with you!” As he uttered these last 
words, the young Belgian applied himself to the 
breakfast which the waiter had set before him, 
and broke the shell of an egg with a spoon. 
“Ugh! Rome is getting to be more than I can 
stand!” he cried. “I shall be off this even- 
ing!” 

Werner did not hear him out, but sprang to 
his feet. His face was more like that of a dead 
than a living man, as he dashed out of the hotel 
into the Piazza di Spagna. He jumped into the 
first cab he could find, and made the man drive 
as fast as he possibly could to the Villa Branca- 
leone. 


292 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


An awful stillness prevailed at the Casino 
there, broken every now and then by the sound 
of rushing feet coming from some part of the 
building. 

It was some time before Werner could get hold 
of anybody to make inquiries. And when he 
did, it was only a servant-girl with a bucket of 
ice.. 

Summoning to his help all the little Italian he 
was master of, he managed to make her under- 
stand that he must see Sulzer for a few minutes. 
Sulzer came to him. Every drop of blood had 
left the poor old man’s countenance; his eyes 
were swollen with weeping and his hands trem- 
bled violently. 

Werner learned, in reply to his questions* as 
he had feared, that what the young Belgian 
had told him was true, in the main. But the 
facts, of course, were seen in a quite differ- 
ent aspect in the light of what the old servant 
had to report. His dear countess had always 
been extraordinarily kind to poor people! When 
any one of the servants was ill, man or woman 
she took the greatest care of the invalid, and al- 
ways saw after the person herself, never caring 
whether the illness was contagious or not. And 
Sulzer’s opinion was quite decided. His pool 
lady must have been suddenly seized with the 
fever when with the dying girl, and become de- 
lirious at once, more or less, and gone into the 
orange-grove without knowing what she was 
about. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


293 


“Who is the physician that has been called in 
to the countess?” asked Werner. 

Sulzer told him. It was the kindly young 
Austrian gentleman who had attended Werner 
after the duel. He was with the countess at 
that moment. 

“Shall I send him to you, baron, when he 
comes out?” 

“Pray do so!” answered Werner. 

Then Werner went, to wait till the doctor 
came, into the White Hall, where, so very few 
days before, he had seen Lena standing in that 
attitude, fixed in his memory forever, between 
tha weeping Eros and the white flowers of the 
oleander-trees. 

It seemed to him as though years went over 
his head before anybody came. At last the 
young Austrian doctor made his appearance. 
His face wore the impassive aspect under which 
men of his profession are wont to cover their 
feelings in the presence of the sick and the 
dying. 

The moment he came into the hall, Werner 
made an exclamation of agitated inquiry. 

“Things look badly, very badly, I am sorry to 
say!” replied the physician. 

“Ho hope?” 

“Hot the least! I have already been in con- 
sultation with a native physician; he agrees 
with me that recovery is out of fhe ques- 
tion.” 

“Does she know that she is dying?” 


294 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“Yes. She insisted upon knowing the truth. 
She is quite prepared : astonishing self-posses- 
sion!” 

“How long before the end must come?” 

“This evening, most probably. She may pos- 
sibly last through the night, but certainly not 
more than an hour or two after daybreak,” said 
the physician, very, very sadly. It seemed a 
relief to him to take the professional mask off 
for a moment. 

“Is she quite alone?” 

“For the moment, yes.” 

“Can I have a word with her?” asked the 
unhappy man. Then his brain seemed to go on 
fire ; but he felt that it was positively necessary 
for him to say something to excuse or explain a 
wish that seemed so out of place at that dreadful 
moment. “I am one of her oldest friends, and 
the husband of the dearest friend she has in the 
world!” And, as he added the last words, he 
felt as if somebody was seizing his throat with 
both hands and strangling him. 

“Just at this moment she is unconscious,” 
said the physician; “but, perhaps, a little 
later.” 

The physician left him. 

W erner did not leave. He remained there the 
whole day, without touching food and without 
sitting down, except for a few very brief mo- 
ments. Most of the time he spent pacing up and 
down the loggia, which occupied nearly a whole 
side of the house. Every now and then he stood 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


295 


quite still, painfully straining his faculties to 
catch any sound that might reach him. And, 
now and then, he would try to find some one 
who could bring him news of what was pass- 
ing in the sick-room. But he learned nothing 
except from the physician, who made one or 
two hasty visits there in the subsequent course 
of the day, but who did not take off the em- 
bargo he had placed upon Werner’s own pro- 
posed visit. 

If any one had asked the wretched man, there- 
after, to give some coherent account of what had 
passed through his mind during those terrible 
hours, he would have been totally unable to do 
so. All that his memory carried away from 
them was an agonizing confusion of mental and 
physical pain ; a frightful sense of weight crush- 
ing him all the time to earth, a sense of dark- 
ness, as though the light had gone out of his 
eyes or a black pall had been spread over the 
whole earth, a fire in his brain that he feared 
would never be quenched, fierce and violent pul- 
sations over his whole frame, which made every 
breath a difficulty to him. Hours they were of 
a complicated agony such as he had never be- 
fore experienced ; never was again to experience ; 
and which few men have ever passed through 
and lived. 

At about six in the evening Lena recovered 
consciousness once more, and for the last time. 
Sulzer brought him a short note from her. The 
address was almost illegible, and had cost the 
writer much painful effort. In an envelope, 


296 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


with it, was Else’s last letter to her. And, on /- 
the back of this letter, were the words, hastily 
scrawled : 

“Received the 15th May, at half -past seven 
in the evening.” 

The note to Werner was as follows: 

“I entreat you to read the note for Else that 
comes with this, and to post it at once with your 
own hand. Make Else happy ! God protect you 
both! Lena.” 

The note to Else was inclosed, addressed to 
her, in another envelope, and contained the fol- 
lowing words : 

“Dear Angel — Everything has been ex- 
plained. There is no idea of such a thing as 
divorce in Werner’s mind. It has all been only 
a misunderstanding. In a few days he will be 
with you. Thy faithful friend, Lena.” 

This little note was miserably written, scarcely 
legible, in fact; but the last three words, “thy 
faithful friend,” were formed with astonishing 
precision. 

Werner sent in a note to the dying woman 
containing an imploring entreaty to grant him 
one moment’s interview. 

She sent out word that she could not see 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


297 


him, and that she entreated him to post the 
letter immediately. And he left the house in 
despair ! 

******** 

Lena lay in her bed. The fever had subsided 
a little about noon; but, as evening drew in, 
it heightened considerably. And, with the in- 
crease of the fever, the patient’s consciousness 
gradually left her, until nothing remained of it 
but sensations of terrible pain, dull, heavy, con- 
tinuous pain, aggravated by delirium and hallu- 
cinations, in which the wrecked imagination of 
the dying woman took a fearful advantage of 
her helplessness and her bodily anguish. 

It seemed to her that she had been put to lie 
upon a couch of stinging thorns, and there to 
toss about unceasingly, in the vain effort to get 
some relief. And all the while there hovered all 
around her black, demoniacal forms that spat 
fire upon her defenseless frame. And these black, 
monstrous things were constantly increasing in 
number, and closing round her nearer and ever 
nearer ! 

This lasted till midnight. But, with the first 
faint light of the dawn, she became more tran- 
quil. The black monsters disappeared slowly, 
one after the other, leaving only one behind. 
And even that one presently fled the scene 
with a slow, lingering movement of its horrible 
wings. 

Then a refreshing coolness seemed to take pos- 
session of her tortured frame, and her couch of 


298 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


thorns was gradually changed into a broad, noble 
river, which seemed to flow with a weird mix- 
ture of water and light. Life seemed to glide 
from her, as a soiled dress is put off at eventide. 
And all that had narrowed and burdened the 
soul, in its tenement of clay, seemed to be lifted 
away. A nd thus — restored to the pure essence 
of Being which was her true and native element 
— she floated down this River of Light to a re- 
gion where all was clearness, purity; where the 
day is Infinity, and knows neither heat nor bur- 
den; where the seasons are no more, and the 
Demon of the Spring is allowed neither entrance 
nor power. 

******** 

On the following morning, when Werner came 
to the villa, she was dead. 

Once again, once only, he gazed upon her 
form. It was seen in the red light of torches. 
In her coffin ! 

She lay there, shrunk in size, it seemed, sweet 
and quiet, like some modest Being rather than 
a corpse. Or, if corpse it was, the motionless 
figure seemed to breathe a peculiar charm, such 
charm as is seen in the face and form of a sleep- 
ing child. This countenance, which looked out 
from its coffin, was not that of the woman, so 
famous for her beauty and her mind, the woman 
whom all the world had known, worshiped and 
admired, the woman whom he had crushed and 
destroyed with hi^own ruthless hand. No; that 
face it was not ! It was another face, known to 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


299 


him, and to him only, of all human beings ; the 
sweet small face of the Water-nymph whom he 
had rescued from the waters of Rhine. And it 
smiled up to him, with a strange, mysterious, 
loving smile, as from lineaments that had never 
been distorted by a single bitter pain, or a single 
bitter thought. 

The dead woman seemed to be enveloped in an 
atmosphere of purity, purity so absolute that, 
one might deem, no defilement ever had ap- 
proached, or ever could have approached it. 

Yea, indeed! Death had restored Lena to all, 
more than all, the purity of her earliest, sad- 
dened years. And, if the fever of life had 
touched her great soul with any trace of sin, 
that trace was effaced as though such impair- 
ment had never been. 

And, as he gazed upon that motionless Form, 
she who had been its tenant became once more 
the sainted, sacred woman to him; the one wo- 
man to whom he had looked for the healing of 
his life ; became so ; and remained so. 

And, on the day after, he followed her coffin — 
with Enzendorff at his side— they two only — to 
her grave. 


300 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


CHAPTER XLVIII. 

It was early, one fresh, dewy, odorous morn- 
ing — a German morning, one is fain to call it. 

The old trees in the Leipzig Place were rust- 
ling in a dreamy tone that had a touch of the 
mystery of home in it ; the grass at their feet 
had all the freshness and green of early summer, 
and early morn. And outside of the shadows 
cast by the trees the dew shone and quivered 
and glittered on that grass. And from the di- 
rection of the great Park of Berlin, there came 
upon the vast city, thrusting away its fogs and 
mists, a mighty breath of morning air, with all 
the coolness of the night in it; genuine, fresh, 
pungent, glorious German morning air. 

The first cab came rattling through the morn- 
ing stillness. A portmanteau and a plaid shawl 
were by the driver on the box. In the left corner 
of the vehicle lay back a man who looked as if 
he had just come out of a serious illness, or 
was about to fall into one. His clothes hung 
loose upon his frame. His face was of a pale 
yellow. His eyes were sunk deep in their 
sockets. 

The wife of the porter, who had just come out 
to sweep the front steps, stared at him with all 
her eyes. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


301 


“ Baron !” she exclaimed, in her astonish- 
ment. “Who’d have thought it! Goodness 
gracious !” 

“Is all well upstairs?’’ he asked, hastily. 

“Yes; all right! The bairns are blooming like 
roses. Only the baroness, dear lady, looks a lit- 
tle pale; but” — heite the worthy woman smiled 
a little roguishly — “that will soon be set right!” 
Then, looking a little closer at W erner, she said : 
“But,* surely, the baron must be ill himself! 
Isn’t it so? The baron looks very poorly, in- 
deed!” 

He made no answer, but looked up with seri- 
ous eyes to the green tops of the trees shivering 
and whispering with such mysterious sounds 
and movements, while the porter’s wife helped • 
the cabman to take the baggage down from the 
box. 

“Unfortunately, my husband is not at home 
to help to carry it upstairs; perhaps the cab- 
man — ” 

“Oh! it doesn’t signify,” he replied. “Let 
the things remain in the hall; I will send Brown 
for them.” 

The cabman was paid, and the vehicle rolled 
away. He drew a deep, slow breath, and, as he 
did so, an extraordinary feeling of satisfaction 
came over him. He felt like a creature suddenly 
restored to its native element after long exile 
from it. This pungent, ordorous morning air 
tasted to him like nectar after the poisonous at- 
mosphere of the exhausting sirocco which he 


302 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


had been breathing during these last weeks. He 
could not have imagined that he would experi- 
ence such a revolution of feeling. He had never 
realized how precious this pure German air really 
was to him. He had never suspected that it 
was the medium in which alone his physical and 
spiritual health could find their suitable aliment ; 
that it was the only one in which he could at 
once respire and aspire. How delightful, how 
full of all sweetness and charm, this home-com- 
ing might have been if — His foot hesitated to 
cross the threshold which he felt as though he 
had forfeited all moral right to step over. But 
he gathered up his strength, stepped on into the 
house, and went up the stairs. Any one observ- 
ing him, as he ascended them, might well have 
mistaken him for an aged man; his gait was 
feeble, and he dragged rather than lifted his 
feet. He felt as though he should never reach 
the floor where his dwelling was, so was he 
weighed down by the heart in his bosom ; that 
heart which carried about with it a woman’s 
corpse ! 

At last he arrived at the door of his apart- 
ments. And, before he could ring, the door 
opened. 

It was his mother who confronted him, with 
eyes opened to their utmost, and filled with 
wrathful reproach. But he had not time to ob- 
serve this suppressed anger in the loving face ; 
for the moment those maternal eyes fell upon his 
countenance and figure, their anger was changed 
into alarm. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


303 


“For God’s sake! What is the matter with 
you?” she exclaimed. 

“Quietly, mother, quietly!” he said, in tones 
of entreaty. “Is Else awake?” 

“I think not, yet. She is in the room on the 
other side, that looks upon the garden. She could 
not have heard you come up. ’ ’ 

“Then do not wake her! ” he begged his 
mother. “Before I go in to her, I wish to have 
some conversation with yourself.” 

“Come!” she said, in a dry voice. She had 
given him no kiss ; she had not even held out her 
hand to him. He followed her without saying 
a word, his head sunk on his chest, where she 
led him, which was into his study. She closed 
the door behind her. 

“How is it that I find you here in Berlin, 
mother?” The depression in his voice was sad 
to hear. 

“Me? Why, Else sent for me! She was at 
her wits’ end what to do with that stepdaughter 
of ours, Thilda, who was going on more like a 
lunatic than anything else. Not that the girl’s 
idiotic proceedings are anything to me ! It’s her 
own lookout, if she wants to throw herself away 
upon some transatlantic mountebank or other. 
No! She might be guilty of all the sillinesses 
under heaven for me ! But, unfortunately, she’s 
something worse than silly. She’s mischievous 
and spiteful as well, more’s the pity. And when 
it comes to her venting her malice and spite 
upon one so dear to me as Else, and reducing 


304 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


the poor girl to such a condition as I found her 
in when I got here, that’s quite a different mat- 
ter, and calls for strong measures!” 

“And is it better with Else since you came?” 
Werner asked, with the same depression in his 
voice. It seemed so fastened upon him that he 
could not even try to shake it off. 

“Yes. Two days ago a note came to her from 
a friend of hers at Rome. The moment she got 
hold of that she began to pick up, and from 
that moment she has done scarcely anything but 
stand at the window, morning, noon and night, 
looking out for you. But, for the first few days 
after I came she was the very picture of grief, 
let me tell you ! And, do what I would, I could 
not get out of her what it was that was so dis- 
tressing her. . For, if I put to her any question 
that seemed to reflect upon you in the very 
slightest degree, she was up in arms at once to 
defend you from the slightest imputation, and 
I seemed to do her nothing but harm. So all I 
know about the whole wretched business is what 
I’ve got from Thilda. And she thinks she’s 
done a very fine thing indeed ! She positively 
boasted to me of having forced Else’s eyes open 
to facts which the poor girl ought to know, and of 
having betrayed to her that, when you engaged 
yourself to her, your thoughts were occupied by 
somebody else. I’ve done my best to talk the 
poor girl out of the idea. But there seem to bo 
all sorts of other cards in the game, which I 
know nothing about.” Then, fixing him with 
her eyes, and looking very sternly into his, she 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


305 


asked, sharply : “Is it true that you have written 

to Counselor D , your schoolfellow, asking 

about the proper steps for a divorce ?” 

Werner’s eyes fell to the ground. “Yes, it is 
true,” he said, in low tones. 

“Am I really to understand that you have 
been seriously entertaining the idea of putting 
away Else and the children?” 

He replied not a word. 

There was a pause, one of those pauses in 
which the very air seems to grow heavy, and the 
tie between hearts to be strained to breaking- 
point. Then the old woman said, in a harsh 
voice : 

“It can’t have been for that Croatian wo- 
man! Who was it?” 

His head sank lower and lower. 

“Who was it, I say?” the old lady insisted, * 
in almost terrible tones. “It was the other wo- 
man ! Do I not speak truly?” 

“What other woman?” said Werner, in the 
voice almost of a dying man. His tongue clave 
to the roof of his mouth. 

“The other woman, the other woman! The 
woman who is in everybody’s mouth here, from 
poor Else’s down to little Lizzie’s; the woman 
whom they’re all so attached to, in whom Else 
places the most unbounded confidence — one 
Lena!” 

For an instant the conventional duty created 
by his dreadful position prevailed in his mind. 
He tried to bring out some indignant denial ; but 
the words refused to come. He tried to find 


306 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


some speech which should cover up the dead 
woman’s reputation from the mother confront- 
ing him, even as he would be bound in honor, 
and would find the strength to do, in the face of 
the world without. That duty, springing from 
the lower and conventional sense of honor, he 
could and would be able to comply with. To 
the world he would know how to turn an im- 
passive face. From the world he would know 
how to shield the dead woman, ill as he had 
shielded the living, with a shield so impenetra- 
ble that all shafts of suspicion and malice should 
glance awa y from it hurtless. But his mother ! 
His mother, who, more than five- and-thirty years 
before these dreadful moments, had received him, 
a poor, helpless, naked little creature, from the 
very hand of God! Between his mother and 
those considerations of the world’s requirements 
and restrictions there was nothing in common. 
Before the mother that had borne him he was 
as defenseless now as he had been then, when 
he drew the first breath of the life he had de- 
rived from her. 

And he was haunted by the feeling, so com- 
mon with those who have gravely offended, that 
life would be impossible unless he could share 
the burden of his offense with some other soul, 
in full confession. And, even as he had owed 
his life, at its origin, to his mother, so, here and 
now, in the mysterious workings of the Creative 
Mind, his mother had come to give him the 
chance of another life, endurable, if not reno- 
vated. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 307 

And well he knew that, of all the human 
souls who could sit in judgment on his, at 
that hour, the mother’s soul, though it might 
eqpal the others in severity, would be the only 
one to accompany that severity with any healing 
tenderness. 

‘‘Mother, I have a confession to make. To 
you only can I speak. Let me have your promise 
that you will carry what I have to tell with you 
to the grave, and never breathe word of it to a 
single human soul!” 

Thus he began. 

She gave him the promise he required. 

And then he poured out to her his whole heart, 
and the whole history of his relations with the 
woman whose name had just come, with almost 
a hissing and a scorn, from his mother’s lips. It 
began with that first meeting of the two, on the 
banks of the Rhine, and ended with the moment 
when his eyes rested for the last time on the 
frame of the dead woman in her coffin. He 
made his mother see that dead form as he had 
seen it himself, shrunk from the larger dimen- 
sions of the glorious womanhood to the softer 
outlines of the girlhood he had first seen her in, 
with the illumination of some liberating, higher 
sphere upon the dead face, of which the red 
quavering glare of the torches, by which his 
earthly vision saw her for the last time, had 
seemed to him the symbol. In all the story, as 
he told it, there was no word which bore the 
semblance of excuse or palliation for himself. 


308 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


Indeed, it seemed as though it were a sort of sat- 
isfaction to him to represent his own conduct in 
as ugly and hateful a light as possible, in order 
to make a foil to the character, as he depicted 
it, of the woman to whom his passion had been 
so fatal, x^nd, in depicting that character, it 
seemed as though no words of his could be tender 
enough, powerful enough, clear enough, to con- 
vey an adequate impression of the strangely 
compounded being of the dear dead woman, with 
its deep core of nobility, principle, sentiment of 
duty, capacity for devotion, and the variability 
of temper and conduct that played upon its 
surface. 

He showed his mother the letter she had writ- 
ten him, which he had so terribly misconstrued 
when it had come to his hands, and, in miscon- 
struing, destroyed her, but which was now to 
him, as it must be to his mother, irrefragable 
proof of the grandeur of soul which his blind 
passion then would not let him see. And when, 
in fine, he came to the point where he could not 
conceal the one moment of weakness which was 
all that could be set on the other side of the ac- 
count against a life of unbroken purity and 
goodness, he as little concealed his own con- 
viction that, if that life had come to a close so 
swiftly after, it was because he had murdered 
it with his own unscrupulous hand, when it 
was most defenseless and most appealed to his 
protection. 

And, when he had fully told the terrible story, 
which had culminated in such tragedy and such 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


309 


guilt, he would fain that all he had said had re- 
mained unsaid ; so greatly did he fear that the 
exalted plane of principle, whereon his mother 
had always stood, might make it impossible for 
her to see. aright a character which, with all its 
moral grandeur, could never be represented as 
having wholly escaped the tainting clutch of 
sin. 

This fear made him lay especial stress upon 
the manner of her death. He could not doubt 
that she had sought that death voluntarily. Sui- 
cide it was ; but suicide into which he had driven 
a woman too great to live with a conscience not 
absolutely flawless in her own eyes, and, for the 
moment, too little mistress of herself to be re- 
sponsible for her act. 

He had wrought himself up to such a pitch cf 
emotion that he broke down here and could say 
no more. And his mother was silent too. But 
when he mustered up courage to look into the 
mother’s face, which he feared so much, he saw 
why it was she was able to say no word. It was 
because she was choked with tears. 

He could not but take some comfort and hope 
from the compassion and sympathy which he 
had so strongly evoked. And it would have 
been an immense relief to him if he could have 
felt the maternal love wrapping him away, in 
its warm folds, from the grief and anguish of 
his own soul. But that was not yet to be. The 
compassion and sympathy in those tears were 
for the dead woman only. The stern reprobation 
of the living son was still strong upon her. 


310 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“Poor woman! poor woman!” she said, in 
very low tones. 

She looked fixedly at the dead woman’s let- 
ter, which she still held in her hands ; and, be- 
fore she gave it back to Werner, she passed 
those hands over it, as though with a fond, 
lingering caress. 

“Well, mother, have you no word for me?” 
said Werner, despairingly. 

4 4 W ords for you ! There is but one word that 
fits this situation ; and it is one which you ought 
to be able to speak for yourself,” replied his 
mother, in tones very little softened. 4 4 Make 
Else happy now — it’s the only thing left for you 
to do — and so redeem yourself!” 

He passed his hands over his brows, like a 
man distraught. What was this that his mother 
would have him to do? Oh! impossible, im- 
possible! What? Take upon his shoulders the 
awful burden of Else’s inexhaustible sweetness 
and affection for him ; enjoy it like a cowardly 
thief, with all that burden of offense against her 
on his conscience ! There was something in him 
that protested against this. Ho ! He would con- 
fess everything to Else, and then join the next 
exploring expedition bound for the wilds of 
Africa. He would go somewhere into the thick- 
est of the fire of some battle, or where some epi- 
demic was raging at its worst, to seek the honor- 
able death which was all his self-respect would 
allow him to look forward to now. Why, what 
was he fit for now, except something like that? 
In the home he had profaned, in the normal, 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


311 


quiet relations of life from which he had so 
widely wandered, impossible that he could ever 
shake from his soul the torturing recollection of 
the misery he had wrought; impossible that, 
with all that on his soul, he could live and move 
at all ! 

All this he poured out to his mother, who sat 
listening with an air of unshaken severity. And 
very stern was the voice with which she met it 
all. 

“You must so live and move! It is your duty, 
and you simply must ! The death you talk of 
would be nothing but aggravation of the wrong 
you have already down. Son ! if repentance is 
really in your thoughts, and not some specious, 
spurious, self- glorifying sacrifice by which you 
may cheat yourself into self-approval once again, 
very different is the path you must walk in now 
from that you have been talking about so wildly. 
Get rid of all that as fast as you can — the quicker 
the better — and fix your mind on the only course 
which true repentance dictates. The true re- 
pentance consists only in action which expiates 
and atones for the past, and in healing those 
whom we have wronged. A false repentance it 
is that cuts off our power for such atonement 
and healing. You, and the unhappy woman 
you have told me of, have both alike sinned 
against Else. She might expiate and wipe 
out her sin by death; she might do so, and 
has done so. But you can expiate yours only 
by living, and living to atone; you can, and 
you must! ,, 


312 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


“But, mother, mother! Can I expect Else to 
live by the side of a man who has murder on 
his soul, as I have?” 

“Murder!” cried his mother, in angry impa- 
tience. “Big words, nothing but big words! 
You see in all this, just now, one death alone, 
and would fain believe that all your offense is 
absorbed and merged in that one calamity and 
consequence. Boy, most seriously do you mis- 
read your doings ! The really worst, most hate- 
ful, ugliest part of it all was your purpose of 
divorcing yourself and thrusting your wife and 
your children out of your life. As to all the rest, 
which is all you seem to deplore — the catastrophe 
of your victim’s death, especially — it was only the 
inevitable result of a set of circumstances which 
only the weaknesses of your character could have 
made possible from first to last. You never 
led that poor soul astray of set purpose, and God 
knows, she never did you ! Both of you have been 
the victims of passion; which she, alas! knew 
better how to resist than you. It is in the guid- 
ance and restraint of self that your life has failed 
hitherto. You must live it out, now, on quite 
different terms. And you want all the longest 
years of the longest life man can lead, believe 
me, to make good all your offenses against the 
dead woman and the living!” 

“But is it not my duty to confess everything 
to Else?” he urged upon his mother. 

“If I could see that it would serve any useful 
purpose, I should say, Yes,” his mother replied; 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


313 


“but it is quite clear to me that it would not, 
and could not. It might do something to take 
some of the weight off your own heart, but it 
would only be laid on Else’s heart instead. And 
you ought now to do nothing that can interfere 
with you', making that poor girl as happy as you 
possibly can ; that is your foremost earthly duty 
now, without which all other duty will be very 
little more than a name with you. Besides, si- 
lence now is part of your duty to the dead too. 
Never, except this once to me, should word be 
uttered or thing be done by you to impair the 
sacredness of that name. And what was her 
last wish? For what did she lay down her 
life? See that that last wish be fulfilled! See 
to it that that last sacrifice was not made in 
vain, if you would have her rest quietly in her 
grave!” 

Even in these solemn moments, when the 
parting of the ways stood before him, with his 
mother’s hand pointing with such noble decision 
to the right one, the weaknesses and vacillations 
of his character asserted themselves yet again. 
He was to rise out of these weaknesses there- 
after. 

And they were now, it may be, waging their 
last struggle within him. And those defects 
had been elevated into system within him by the 
evil doctrines, confusing the clear outlines of 
duty and action, with which he had trifled so 
long, as is the way of his sick generation and 
age. He objected this that and the other diffi- 
culty to his mother’s peremptory suggestions, 


314 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


until she all but lost her patience with him 
altogether. 

“Spare me any more of your subtleties !” she 
cried. “Duty is not the complicated, casuisti- 
cal, metaphysical thing you would make it. No 
indeed! It is something quite differei c, quite 
simple. Duty is to be found and done only in 
the spirit of resignation ; the resignation which 
teaches us to go carrying to the end, without 
murmuring and without shrinking, the little bit 
of burden which God has seen fit to lay on our 
shoulders. Duty is the same thing in principle, 
one with the discipline which makes the good 
soldier, however tired he may be, drag on with 
him the weapons intrusted to him and go straight 
to his death, without asking questions as to why 
he should so endure and die. But all that paw- 
ing things over, and drawing distinctions, all 
that fine speculation you are so addicted to, comes 
straight from the pit, and tends to draw people 
down into it. If you had laid that truth to heart 
earlier, you would not be standing where you do 
now ! If it be, as you say, that you have ruined 
your life irretrievably — which God forbid, and I 
cannot believe— spare the lives of others now! 
And whatever you suffer in doing so matters 
not one jot. And now let there be an end ! Go 
to Else, and let her see your face and hear a 
word of love from you once more!” 

He remained yet a moment or two sunk in 
thought and silence. Then he rose. He put 
out his hand very shyly and took his mother’s 
hand. But she withdrew it from him. He 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


315 


turned away, and went toward the door with 
dull, heavy steps from which all hope and cour- 
age seemed to have fled, when he heard behind 
him the cry : 

“Werner!” 

His mother stood close behind him, her old 
frame all a tremble with agitation, love, com- 
passion. She opened her arms to her suffering 
child. 

‘ ‘ My poor boy ! my poor, poor boy ! ’ ’ she 
sobbed, and clasped him to her bosom. 

A minute later he was kneeling by Else’s 
bed. 

“My darling!” he murmured, in low tones. 

She opened her blue eyes wide, wide; looked 
at him uncertainly, as though the sight in them 
had to return slowly, and then began to sob, 
throwing both arms round his neck. 

Her pure, artless tenderness and caress gave 
his soul the same sort of satisfaction as had been 
afforded him by the refreshing pungency of the 
air pf the morning in the street. And again the 
thought shot through him, with keen pain, how 
delightful and beautiful this moment of return 
to his home might have been but for — ! 

“Oh! you dear, naughty, naughty fellow!” 
sobbed Else. “And it was all nothing but a 
misunderstanding, really nothing more?” 

“Yes, yes; nothing but a misunderstanding!” 
he murmured. 

“Lena wrote and told me so. Oh! if you 
could only have the least idea what a load her 
few lines took from my heart ! Tell me about 


316 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


Lena. What is Lena doing with herself? How 
is she?” 

“Lena is dead!” he said, in a hoarse voice. 
“She was seized with the perniciosa, and 
before twenty-four hours were over she was 
gone!” 

“Dead! Lena!” Else trembled violently in 
his arms. “Dead! Lena dead! God be mer- 
ciful to us ! That spoils all my delight in having 
you with me again!” 

Then she added, in very low, very soft and 
tender tones : 

“Poor Lena! poor Lena! poor Lena! She 
was a good and true friend to me, if woman ever 
was to woman!” 

“She was, indeed!” declared Werner. 

And strange, solemn indeed, was the voice in 
which the words were uttered. A solemnity it 
was well fitting the words and the man, who 
felt that, even as they passed his lips, he was 
burying the worst — and, alas ! perhaps, too, some 
part of the best — of himself in the grave where 
the dead woman slept ! 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


317 


EPILOGUE. 

Many years have elapsed since the sad events 
which we have chronicled above. 

These years have brought with them many of 
the changes which it is the peculiar function of 
time to bring to pass. But there are some things 
which defy time altogether, and which remain 
unaltered till they are swept into final oblivion 
by powers greater than time. And, accordingly, 
some of the things and persons whereof we have 
narrated remain, at this later date, in the same 
plight and condition as when we left them. 
Among these unaltered and, probably, unaltera- 
ble things is the maiden state of Thilda. She is 
still Thilda Schlitzing, Mrs. Ryder-Smythe hav- 
ing, in point of fact, died before she was born. 
This result, however, is by no means to be at- 
tributed to any overwhelming influence exercised 
by her family with the lady. That influence 
proved itself so powerless to contend with the 
ardors of her passion for the young gentleman 
in question, that it had to retire discomfited and 
in great disorder from the field of action. At 
five-and-forty years of age, the lady felt that 
there could be no trifling with so critical a ques- 
tion, and fought desperately for her probably 
last chance. 


318 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


But, when it came to the point of marriage 
settlements, the extraordinary result declared 
itself that money, after all, weighed at least as 
much as love with the romantic and. emanci- 
pated spinster. A document had been prepared 
which secured to the lady exclusive control over 
the whole of her fortune. And the gentleman, 
alas ! found it impossible to reconcile himself to 
arrangements inconsistent with his self-respect. 
But Thilda held her ground firmly. And the 
two loving hearts never became one. 

Ryder- Smy the disappeared from the scene of 
our narrative very soon after this catastrophe of 
their loves. And, for a long time, Berlin heard 
no repoyt of him. But he appears to have turned 
up at the great World’s Fair, at Chicago, where 
the “colossal” quality of his pianoforte playing, 
sympathetic as it was with the vastness of every- 
thing there, is insuring him a “colossal” suc- 
cess. This new fame of the artist has probably 
caused Thilda’s passion to spring up again from 
the ashes of its fires. At all events, she makes 
frequent allusions to it now, and usually in the 
remarkable shape of lamentation that she had 
not been able to overcome the prejudices of her 
rank and station, and give her hand to the man 
of genius, and of her heart. 

Linden is still a bachelor. When Lena died, 
it went very hard with him indeed. He is grow- 
ing quite gray now, and his devotion to Else 
and her children becomes greater with every 
year. He is one of the many unsatisfied, in the 
deepest life of the heart. But his pure affection 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. ‘,519 

and friendship for the woman who first touched 
his fancy, and for her children, and the warm 
return they make him, make a better substitu- 
tion for the unattained best than it is given to 
most men to enjoy. But Linden deserves it. It 
is not probable that he will, a second time, 
wander in any direction other than of Else and 
the. love of his first youth. 

In Else herself there is much alteration, as we 
see her after the years. She is still one of the 
prettiest, most charming, best loved women in 
all Berlin. But more than one white hair catches 
the light now, when it falls upon her sweet blonde 
head. And there is a gravity about her which 
seems to be not so much the opposite of her 
youthful manner and temperament as a noble 
flower, into which these have developed under 
the stress of experience and pain. 

For it would seem, indeed there can be no 
doubt,, that Werner, unhappy man, did, in spite 
of the fixed resolution formed under the stress of 
his mother’s influence, betray to his young wife 
the secret of the guilt that was on his soul, and 
of the tragic fate of her unhappy friend. Not 
willfully, not voluntarily, however. In the day- 
light hours he had sufficient resolution and self- 
command to keep inviolate the seal that he had 
put upon his lips. But man is not master of 
himself during all the hours w hen his heart beats. 
And Sleep, so gentle and true with those who 
have no remorse on their souls, is cruel — and 
treacherous, we might almost say — to the bur- 
dened conscience. And so it was that Werner, 


320 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


in those dreams of terror and anguish which 
visited him so frequently in the dreadful nights 
following his return to wife and home, re- 
vealed matter which he had sworn to himself 
that his wife, in this world at least, should 
never know. 

But the sweet young creature, under this trial, 
proved that, underneath all the childlike graces 
of her character, there was a magnanimity and 
greatness of soul equal to the occasion, and won- 
derful in its power of stoical self- suppression. 
She showed herself capable of that which only 
the elect and very few of the sons and daughters 
of men are capable of, forgiveness and silence; 
of the supreme dignity which is above resent- 
ment and above complaint. Hers was the noble 
forgiveness of the strong, not the ignoble of the 
weak. And, if she thus put away the offense 
done to her into this admirable oblivion, it was 
because, deep as was her devotion to and need of 
her husband, she knew, all the more because of 
that revelation, how much more necessary she 
was to him than he to her. 

But Werner’s perceptions were naturally keen, 
and self-suppression had made them keener. And 
the fact could not escape him that Else had be- 
come mistress of his secret. And, from that hour, 
there were no bounds to the reverent tenderness 
for her which his gratitude for her angelic con- 
duct inspired in him. When we see them again 
the parts of husband and wife seem strangely 
inverted with them. It is Else, now, who is the 
prop, the support, the one fixed standing-ground 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


321 


and best motive-power of his life. She is the one 
counselor in his perplexities and difficulties, and 
at once the best of wives and the most faithful 
of friends.* And in her love, which has suffered 
neither alteration nor diminution in spite of all 
its trials, he sees that restoration of himself to 
self-respect, without which, being what he is, he 
could probably not have lived on at all. And 
all that he could do, to return devotion so singu- 
lar, so exemplary, he faithfully did. Never was 
wife so cherished and exalted. Never was hus- 
band so careful to remove every stone of stum- 
bling from the foot of wife. In his anxious care 
of her, it was as though her very mother lived 
again. In fiis anxious love for her, it was as 
though they were always now in the very honey- 
moon of a wedded love, so great that no third 
soul could ever have disturbed it for a moment. 
And in this atmosphere of love, tenderness, 
watchfulness, her children grew up about her 
blooming like plants for whom all the ele- 
ments of air and earth conspire in kindliness. 
And Werner was blessed with the feeling 
that all this delightful prosperity of wife and 
children and home was, in no small part, his 
own work. 

And he had other sources of satisfaction be- 
sides this domestic happiness. At Krugenberg, 
his wife’s property, he was simply worshiped; 
and well he might be. For there was no human 
being in that neighborhood so lowly in estate as 
not to experience the benefit of all his kindest 
effort to alleviate its troubles and improve its 


322 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


fortunes. In his desire to escape from the 
pressure of introspection — a thing which was 
so indispensable, if his great crisis of anguish 
and repentance was to be overcome without 
death or madness — he found no medicine so 
healing as the steady practice of beneficence to 
his fellow-creatures. And he found increasing 
opportunity for such practice as time went on, 
enlarging, as it did, the sphere in which his 
work had to be done and his influence was 
felt. And thus, by work and sympathy for 
others, he kept at bay the enemy in his own 
bosom, until its powers of destruction were 
spent. 

The speculative side of him never came into 
a state of equilibrium and satisfaction. No 
more than any other man ever has been, was 
he capable of solving the problem of existence, 
its final end and aim, by his individual, specu- 
v lative efforts. But he was happier than others 
of his generation in this, that, finding himself 
unable to reach any solution of that problem, 
he gave up trying to do so altogether. And, 
finally, he settled down into a conclusion which 
was enough for him. « A 

It was simply this: That, whether we are 
creatures of Eternity or not; whether our lives 
are bounded by one time and a grave, or 
are for all time and a Heaven; that life 
is so filled with griefs, troubles, anxieties, dis- 
tresses, that any one who keeps his hands in 
his pockets and does not his best and uttermost 
to help his kind — is simply a scoundrel. 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


323 


In the education of his children he is careful 
to inculcate the principles of old-fashioned 
morality. Bitter experience has taught him 
that there can be no trifling with these; and 
that if human lives ever do really have any 
true peace aud satisfaction, these are found in 
the things that they renounce rather than in 
those whereof they permit themselves fruition. 

The political career, which he had at an earlier 
date aimed at without success, came to him not 
long since in a summary way. The electors of 
his district, convinced of his worth, pressed 
upon him its representation in the German 
Parliament, and would take no denial. And 
they are very disposed to think that they have 
found in him the coming man for whom their 
Fatherland is looking. 

At the date when we are about to take our 
leave of him, he is, then, a member of the Par- 
liament of the Empire; a very grave man, with 
hair too gray for his years, and eyes from 
which the light of youth has departed, leaving 
them full of watchfulness and attention to the 
outer world, eyes which seem almost to listen 
as well as to see; as it should be with the eyes 
of a public man in this day of wordy war- 
fare. When he first took his seat in the House, 
it was far from his thoughts or purpose to be 
more than a silent working member; and, but 
for the stimulus of a moment of crisis in its 
debates, he^would probably have been content, 
like many another worthy person there, to fol- 
low in his leader’s footsteps with disciplined 


324 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


silence, until his parliamentary career came to a 
close. But an occasion came when the discus- 
sion in the House — albeit on serious matter — 
seemed to languish, as though no one had a 
prompt and useful word at command. And 
Werner — in the same spirit as would have led 
him to put out his hand to give a helping shove 
to a cart sticking in the mud — felt some words 
coming so irresistibly to his lips that he rose 
and made, then and there, without premedita- 
tion or preparation, his maiden speech. It was 
very simple in style, very lucid, and very im- 
pressive, and of a significance and distinction 
he himself did not suspect. For he was greatly 
astonished when all the members of his party 
crowded round him with their congratulations 
when he had done. 

And from that moment he stepped into the 
class of the marked men whom not his party 
alone, but his country, too, expect to go far. 

His old mother, who, in spite of her years, 
is still as lively and bustling as ever, finds no 
difficulty now in spending as many weeks or 
months in her son’s house as Else wishes. 
And the best of all his triumphs has been 
that his mother, one day, her eyes wet with 
tears, drew his head down to her bosom and 
whispered to him: 

“You have had much to repair, Werner; but 
you are my own boy, my own brave boy, after 
all! ” 

Else is very proud of him. She is happy — so 


CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 


325 


happy that her happiness seems to radiate from 
her like heat and light. 

And he? He has a wife whom he worships, 
loves with all his heart. He has delightful 
children, who look up to him as a being almost 
more than human. He has, occupation than 
which none could interest him more; occupa- 
tion in which, without any overvaluing of 
himself, he may expect not only promotion, 
but much opportunity of serving his fellow- 
men. He has the esteem and sympathy of all 
who know him. 

And yet — 

Over the stone which covers Lena’s grave, 
in the lovely churchyard in Rome where the 
Protestants sleep, the moss grows thick. The 
strangers who come there find it difficult to de- 
cipher the name cf the tenant of that grave. 

The world has forgotten that name. It never 
now crosses the lips even of those who loved her 
best in life. 

* * * * * * * * 

But does he forget? He, whose weaknesses 
and defects lie buried in that all but nameless 
and unmentioned grave. Does he forget the 
woman who did in truth redeem him from his 
lower and weaker self, though, alas! in away 
so different from that which had been her pur- 
pose? Does he forget? Can he forget? 

Let the question remain unanswered. Only; 
one thing let us bear in mind. If this life c f 
ours — passed as it has to be between two im- 


326 CHORDS AND DISCORDS. 

penetrable abysses, one the past, the future an- 
other — is endurable to us at all, it is, not because 
of the joys it gives, but because of the capacity 
we are endowed with of forgetting what it takes 
away. Most justly, indeed, did a great soldier 
• — great as warrior and thinker — say, not very 
long ago: 

“It is Memory and what Memory stores that 
enriches and beautifies our lives; but those lives 
would not be possible at all were we not gifted 
with the power — to Forget.” 


THE END. 














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A N INI A ^ 

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BURNETT 

AT THE - - - 

CHICAGO EXPOSITION 


WHAT TIIE RESTAURATEURS AND CATERERS WHO ARE TO FEED 
THE PEOPLE INSIDE THE FAIR GROUNDS THINK OF 

BURNETT’S EXTRACTS: 


Chicago, April 2d, 1893. 
Messrs. Joseph Burnett & co. 

Gentlemen : After careful tests and Inves- 
tigation of the merits of your flavoring ex- 
tracts, we have decided to give you the 
entire order for our use, in our working 
department as well as in all our creams and 
ices, used in all of our restaurants in the 
buildings of the World’s Columbian Ex- 
position at Jackson Park. 

Very truly yours, 
WELLINGTON CATERING CO. 

By Albert S. Gage, President. 


Chicago, April 26th, 1893. 
Messrs. Joseph Burnett & Co., 

Boston and Chicago. 

Gentlemen: After careful investigation we 
have decided that Burnett’s Flavoring Ex- 
tracts are the best. We shall use them ex- 
clusively in the cakes, ice creams and 
pastries served in Banquet Hall and at New 
England Clam Bake in the World’s Fair 
Grounds. 

N. E.. WOOD, Manager, 

New England Clam Bake Building. 

F. K. MCDONALD, Manager, 

Banquet ILalL 


Woman’s Building, ? 

World’s Columbian Exposition, j 
Chicago, April 21st, 1893. 
Messrs. Joseph Burnett & Co., 

Boston and Chicago. 

Gentlemen: We take pleasure in stating 
that Burnett’s Flavoring Extracts will 
be used exclusively In the Garden Cafe, 
Woman’s Building, World’s Columbian Ex- 
position, during the period of the World’s 
Fair. 

RILEY & LAWFORD. 


Columbia Casino Co. 
Messrs. Joseph Burnett & Co., 

Boston and Chicago. 

Gentlemen: We take pleasure in stating 
that Burnett’s Flavoring Extracts will be 
used exclusively in the cuisine of the 
Columbia Casino Restaurant, at the 
World’s Fair Grounds, as It is our aim to 
use nothing but the best. Respectfully, 

H. A. WINTER, Manager. 


..I 


Transportation Building, 
World’s Columbian Exposition. 

Chicago, April 24, 1893. 
Messrs. Joseph Burnett & Co. 

Gents: After careful tests and compari- 
sons we have decided to use “ Burnett’s 
Extracts” exclusively in our ice creams, 
ices and pastry. Very respectfully, 

_ „ , ^ . SCHARPS & KAHN, 

Caterers for the “ Golden Gate Cafe,” 

"TBOCADERO- Tnu “» OT “ U °“ 

Cor. 16th Street and Michigan Avenue. 


“ The Great White Horse’- Inn Co., ) 
World’s Columbian > 
Exposition Grounds. ) 
Chicago, Tll., U. S. A., April 26, 1893. 
Messrs. Joseph Burnett & Co., 

Boston and Chicago. 

Gentlemen : It being our aim to use noth- 
ing but the best we have decided to use 
Burnett’s Flavoring Extracts exclusively, in 
the ice cream, cakes and pastries served in 
“The Great White Horse” Inn, in the 
grounds of the World’s Columbian Expo- 
sition. Very truly yours, 

T. B. SEELEY, Manager, 
“ The Great White Horse ” Inn Co. 


The Restaurants that have contracted to use Burnett’s Extracts, exclusively, 

are as follows : 


WELLINGTON CATERING CO., 

“ GREAT WHITE HORSE ” INN, 
THE GARDEN CAFE, 

woman’s building. 


COLUMBIA CASINO CO., 

THE GOLDEN GATE CAFE, 

NEW ENGLAND CLAM BAKE CO, 
BANQUET HALL. 


JOSEPH BURNETT & CO., BOSTON, MASS. 





■S. Zfc*. 

6 




WORTH A GUINEA A BOX.” 



PILLS 


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Covered with a Tasteless & Soluble Coating. 



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Ifcalka 
















































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